


Ask Skyrim Johnkat - Sunheart

by teaandcharcoal



Series: Skyrim Johnkat [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Homestuck
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandcharcoal/pseuds/teaandcharcoal
Summary: The main fight is over and the world has been saved, but before our heroes get their happily ever after, there are still some unanswered questions. One last run out isn't a big deal, but there are sometimes things worth not knowing and work better off left unfinished. After all, Skyrim is a big place.(Direct sequel to Ask Skyrim Johnkat. Read that first or this will make no sense)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I could have been done. Then I was watching a playthrough that reminded me of something I missed. Because, let's be real, Skyrim is a big game and there's lots of stuff TO miss. 
> 
> And come on, this is based off a AAA video game. Of course there's gonna be DLC to fill some gaping holes.

The late afternoon light glimmers on the silver threads of Karkat’s new doublet. You run your fingers over the fabric, feeling the smooth transition between the velvet and the intricate embroidery. Gosh, Astellus Avenicci did an amazing job. It’s really well-made and Karkat looks fucking gorgeous in it. Too bad he took your advice about the difficulties of cleaning velvet a little too seriously and hasn’t worn the damn thing since his final fitting. He keeps saying there’s no point in trying to look fancy. But once you get home there will be! And then when you dress up you’ll match! Not in the kind of weird way people do with twins sometimes, but the colors and the details complement each other really well and the two of you are gonna look so cool together! You smile from ear to ear just thinking about it. You can’t wait to get him home. You shut the little chest, the same one Jake brought you the materials in a few short weeks ago

“And that’s the last of it, huh?” Karkat asks from behind you. His voice is soft, almost nervous.

“Think so!” you reply cheerfully. 

You get to your feet and turn around. Karkat stands in the doorway, lightly leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His eyebrows are just a tiny but scrunched up and he’s giving you the smallest frown he’s got. It makes him look like a child who’s desperately pretending not to be a little bit put out. Aw man, what a cutie. 

“Aw, were you feeling neglected?” You get up on your tiptoes so you can fully tuck his head under your chin as you gently pet his hair. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m here.”

“Get off of me, you damn oaf!” Karkat puts up a tiny bit of a struggle, just enough of one that he can feel like he’s maintaining his dignity.

“Mmm, yes, accept the cuddles.”

He groans and then goes still, accepting said cuddles.

“Yessss.”

“Oh, screw you.”

You laugh and then let him go, taking a step back to smile at him. “Gods, I can’t wait for you to meet everybody. They’re gonna love you so much!”

 “Right.” He smiles weakly, shifts his weight a little.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” He says firmly. Then he puts on a bigger, faker smile. “So tomorrow’s… tomorrow we’re setting off.”

“Hey Karkat?”

“I told you, I’m fine!” he snaps.

“I know,” you say. You run your fingers through your hair. “But, um, was there anything else you wanted to do before we set off? Or on the way. Or even out of the way. I wouldn’t mind, no matter where it is.”

He makes a pained face and looks away at that. “I-“

A loud crash from downstairs cuts him off. He immediately goes into fight mode, and you know you’re not gonna get anywhere.

“Uh, pick this up after?” You suggest.

“Good idea.”

Even though you both leave your weapons at the door, you’re never truly unarmed, so you take the lead marching down the stairs. Something small and black darts around the room. The kitchen shelves have fallen over, dumping pots and pans and dry ingredients all over the floor. You notice a few shards of ceramic you think used to be bowls.

Eventually the black thing comes to a stop, cowering in the corner under a chair, and you get a good look at it.

“Oh!” You let out a sigh of relief. “It’s just a cat.”

 “Huh.” Karkat tromps down the stairs. “Did it jump in through the window or something?”

“Guess it must have.” You go over near the chair and kneel, extending your hand in offering. “Hi sweetie,” you say, “Wanna come out?”

Karkat snorts. “Look, it’s probably just a stray. It’s not like it’s going to understand when you-“

The cat uncurls itself and timidly comes forward.

“Ugh, why do I try to make the world make sense around you?!”

 _“How has that fool not learned yet?”_ Miraak asks. _“I have and I’ve only been here a few weeks. You defy all logic.”_

You try not to laugh, in case it would scare the little guy off. It sniffs your fingers and then comes forward, accepting your scritches.

“Aww, look at him!”  

“Huh, weirdly friendly for a street cat.” Karkat kneels down next to you and starts scratching the base of its tail. The cat purrs. “Shit, if no one comes to take this thing we might have to keep it.”

You laugh. “I wouldn’t mind. I just hope he likes dogs.”

Then your finger catches on something around the cat’s neck. Its fur had hidden it before, but now you can see the thin velvet ribbon tied around it.

“Aw man, I think he _is_ somebody’s pet,” you say. You scratch under the collar, hoping cats like it the same way dogs do.

“Hang on, what’s that?” Karkat bats your hand away and turns the ribbon. There’s a tiny tube tied onto it, the same kind you’d normally see on a pigeon. Weird.

Karkat opens the tube and pulls out the small piece of paper curled up inside. You watch his face carefully as he reads it. His eyebrows are bunched up for most of it, first in confusion, then annoyance, before finally something about it seems to excite him. When he looks up he’s smiling.

“Well? What does it say?” You ask.

Instead he just hands it to you.

The letter is written in an elegant curling script and says:

_I hope Jaspers finds you well. He’s generally the fastest messenger I have, but he has an unfortunate tendency to get distracted between planes. I wanted to ensure that I reached you before you left. You see, when visiting an old book I stumbled across something I’d forgotten. There is a place called Darkfall Cave about a day’s ride west of Solitude. It’s small, not on many maps, but they say it was once home to one of the largest Falmer temples ever created. If it’s true, and not just some self-aggrandizing myth the Falmer perpetuated themselves in the first era, it may contain ruins not defiled by Nords or Dwemer. I thought, perhaps, before you left Skyrim you may want to take a look._

_Sincerely,_

_Rose Lalonde_

“So,” Karkat says, “What do you think?”

 _“Do you know anything about this?”_ you ask Miraak.

_“I do believe I heard something about the construction of such a place… but I never worried much about it. After all, they were primarily interested in Akatosh and I prefer my gods to be a bit more… present in the world.”_

“Ah! This is awesome! And Miraak said he thinks its real too!”

“So, you’d be cool with it?” Karkat asks timidly.

“Of course! I know how much you like this stuff. I’ll just send a letter down to my dad, tell him we’re gonna be down a little later. Let’s go do one last Skyrim adventure together.”  

His smile falters for a moment. “Yeah, one last one.”

* * *

When you set out the next day, everything is almost the way it was before. Almost. You bought a new horse for the journey back, mostly to help carry some of the shit, but also so you’re not pressed together in the middle of the summer in central Cyrodiil. And John thought it might be better if you brought her on this trip too, so you could get used to each other.

You’re not actually sure how much you like having your own horse. You guess it’s more comfortable, and you can carry more supplies, but at the same time you kind of liked being pressed up against John. Plus getting two horses saddled and unsaddled makes everything take twice as long. And, to top it off, the best one you could find was a cream mare named Mouse. She’s still a full-grown Skyrim horse, but next to Shadowmere any mortal horse would look pathetic. You just hope that if it comes to it she’ll be a nice calm battle mount like the seller said. You don’t like being thrown around by an animal that weighs well over a ton, especially if you don’t have John helping you to stay on.

But you don’t get to find out on this trip. You and John stay on the main roads and they’ve all been clear since the war ended. It’s a long but gentle few days of riding. You keep your eyes open, trying to take in the view. If you never make it back up to this part of Skyrim, you’d like to remember it like this, not the frigid snow you hiked through last time.

Darkfall cave really isn’t too far off the path, though you do have to snipe off a few wolves and sabercats before they get too close to the horses. You tie the horses to a tree along a nearby stream, pull out the few things you think you’re going to need, and set out.

The cave starts out the same as many others: cold and damp and full of twisting paths. John has to recast magelight every couple minutes since there’s no sign of habitation (you don’t even notice any rats or spiders) but it’s not a big deal. The air is damp, and not far into the cave you pass a mid-sized waterfall. It pours down from far above where magelight lets you see and into a large hole in the floor. You peer over from a safe distance, and, yep, it all fades to black down there too.   

The shadows shift as John comes to stand next to you. “Yeah, I know Rose said the bottom, but let’s find a longer way down.”

You scoff. “No shit, asshole.”

“Just checking,” he replies, giving you that playful grin of his.

You be sure to hip check him on the way back onto the path, making him laugh out loud. If nothing else, you hope this part doesn’t get old. Even through the gloom of the cave, John makes everything feel bright and warm. Though the magelight probably helps with that too. He has to recast it a couple times as you go along the winding path.

It doesn’t feel like you’re going down. You’ve been through a lot of caves and a lot of ruins. You know what down feels like, and this isn’t it. It’s getting frustrating.

John touches your shoulder gently. “Hey, at least it’s not more draugr.”

To his credit, that does make you laugh.

Around the next corner, you get a bit of payoff. The cavern opens up, though it’s still small enough that the little sphere of magelight can illuminate the whole space. The sound of rushing water had never really left, but it’s louder than it’s been since the waterfall. A rope bridge spans a chasm ahead of you.

John inhales sharply, and when you look into the hole you see why. The waterfall from before has turned into a torrential river, rushing through the opening below. You’ve heard about underground rivers like this, the kind that swallow up adventurers whole and only give back the mangled, bloody bodies in a few lucky cases. Looking down at it every inch of you screams at you to turn around.

You take a deep breath and say “You can turn back if you want.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’d trust a dragon over that river.”

John laughs. “You know that’s usually my line and you usually give me shit for it.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, if you wanna take a turn following me on _my_ stupid destiny field trip, at least take this.” You hand him a water breathing potion.

“Wait, you don’t think we should dive in, do you?”

“Fuck no! It’s just…” you gesture to the bridge. “Look at that thing!”

“Fair. You have one for yourself?”

“Come on, John, who the fuck do you think I am?” You fish another vial from your satchel.

“Alright, then.” He uncorks it and downs the whole thing, and then makes a face. “Ugh, it feels like snot!”

“It’s eggs, asshole.” You take yours and decide not to tell him about the fish guts that are also in there. Well, he’s right, it does feel gross, but probably better than drowning.

 “Okay, okay, bleh.” He takes a step onto the rickety bridge and nothing happens. He gets about half way across the opening and then shouts, appearing on the other side. He lets out a sigh of relief. “Alright, let me just…” he shifts his stance and you feel a soft upward breeze. “Okay, now if we’re lucky I should be able to catch you. Maybe.”

“Your confidence is astounding,” you reply flatly.

“Well maybe if someone didn’t flip his shit every time I try to practice.”

The words should be cutting, but he’s smiling at you, so you just roll your eyes and say, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

You step onto the bridge, carefully testing each board before you transfer your weight fully. Each one holds sturdy. And then you’re back on solid ground.

Then you bother to look around.

“Oh, fuck,”

“What?”

“John, do you see the way forward?”

He looks around, eyes wide, but to no avail. There’s no opening on this side of the divide.

“There’s gotta be a switch,” he says. “There’s always a switch.”

“I don’t see one.”

“Well, maybe we just have to look harder.” He puts his hands on the wall and starts feeling around.

You look back at the bridge and get the strong sense you’re going to have to try to cross the damn thing again. It feels like the water wants you badly. But you shake it off and help John search. And search. And search.

“Okay,” he says when you’ve gone over each inch of wall twice. “I think maybe we _will_ have to go back.”

“Fucking perfect.”

The two of you nervously walk back to the bridge. This time you go first, and it holds steady. Stupid thing must be stronger than it looks. Then John follows. He gets about half way across again, but then as he starts to shout his way back to the ledge there’s a crack. One of the rope snaps and the bridge falls.

John is quick enough to grab hold of the remaining rope, but then out of the corner of your eye you see it start to strain. One fiber breaks.

“Shout!” You yell, kneeling down and holding out your arm.

And he does. You can feel his strong grip on your wrist. But it’s too much. You start tipping forward.

“Hurry!”

He gets a hand on the solid ground beside you, but his hands are wet from the spray. The moment he actually puts any weight on it he slips and you, not prepared for it, tumble right into the river with him.

As you fall, your only thought is _we didn’t top up water breathing._

After you hit, you can’t think anything. It’s just raw, primal fear as you’re jostled around. You can’t tell if you’re bumping into John or the rocks. Fuck, you can’t even tell what’s up or down. You can still breathe, sharp sudden inhales that are almost painful against the pressure of the water.

You don’t know how fast or far you go, but just as you feel yourself start to choke on the water, you find yourself pushed into a small, still pool. You push yourself up onto your knees and taste sweet air again.

John! Where is he? After all the shit you went through you can’t lose him to a fucking cave! You fumble in the darkness, hands grazing over rocks and loose satchels until you feel the familiar twisted shapes of his armor. You can’t even tell if he’s breathing with the breastplate in the way. Shit, fuck, shit. You claw upwards, desperately trying to find the edge of his helmet so you can know. You have to know. If nothing else you have to know!

Before you can actually find his face, he groans and bats your hands away.

“Oh, thank Stendarr,” you breathe, falling back onto your ass.

“Ugh, how did we get here?” he asks.

“Shit, did you hit your head?”

“Maybe?” His voice is less muffled now. He must have banished the armor. “I don’t think so. It’s more just…” there’s a soft splashing noise. “There was that much water rushing out and this is, what five inches deep? And, just to check…” his hands glow golden, illuminating the area around you ever so slightly. It feels like he’s trying to heal you, but nothing happens. “Yeah, neither of us even got scratched.”  

There’s a little more splashing, and then a new sphere of magelight appears. John stands above you, looking out into the darkness while you take note of your immediate surroundings.

“And all of our stuff is here,” you say, noting the collection of bottles floating on the surface and the weapons resting gently on the bottom. You grab your sickles and holster them.  “I don’t know, John, this feels kind of weird.”

“Oh fuck,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Karkat, I’m so sorry.”

 _“What?!”_ You straighten up and reach for your weapons, expecting a fight to break out. 

“I forgot to try flying.”

Oh. There are lots of ways you could take that. You probably have the right to be pissed off. Maybe you should feel bad, since you always tell him not to practice in case he hurts himself or gets caught. But he sounds so sad… and beating him up won’t do you any good. While you stand there debating what to say a shiver runs down your spine. “We can’t worry about that now. Let’s get somewhere dry before we freeze to death.”

The two of you gather up as much of your stuff as you can find quickly and then tromp off through the water.

There’s still nothing here that poses you any sort of danger. You don’t know whether to be thankful, or terrified. You can’t help but think that it might just mean there’s nothing to eat and no way out.

“Worst comes to worst,” John says, “I’m pretty sure we still have that rune in the hearth.”

You let out a sign of relief, both for the confirmation that there’s a way out and because John was thinking about it too.

Eventually, you do find a spot of dry ground. As you get closer, you realize it’s a path leading up and out of the pool. You follow it for a while, not entirely sure what you’re going to find. But hypothermia hasn’t really set in, so maybe you can go just a little further… Then up ahead… is that fire?

As you get closer, the orangey glow grows stronger and stronger. And, shit, it is! Someone has a whole camp set up here. You rush forwards to feel the warmth on your face. Fuck, it’s good. You start pulling off your armor so that you can drop the sodden padding underneath. John catches up quickly and plops his tunic right over the spit the owner set up. Part of you knows you should be wary because whoever bothered to set this up probably won’t be too happy to come back to find two strangers becoming increasingly naked in the middle of their campsite, but you’ll worry about that when you’re warm. You spread the rest of your gear out nearby, hoping that even with the humidity they’ll be able to dry a little bit. Your bedrolls and the books are almost certainly a lost cause, but you’ve got plenty of other shit that’s probably salvageable.

It’s when you’re trying to find a nice place to spread out some of your emergency backup ingredients that you find the arm.

“Oh.” You say, looking down at the blood-stained limb. It’s not a clean cut. You think it looks more like it was torn off of the person’s shoulder. Several large, rough tears run across the pale skin. A trail of blood splatters leads off into the dark.

“Find something?” John asks.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t think the owner coming back is gonna be a problem.”

There’s a piece of paper in the clutched hand and you reach out to take it. Most of the ink is smudged or the paper stained red, but what you can make out mentions something about begging someone to leave, saying they should have “known better than to think they could live peacefully near to such creatures.”

You throw the arm further from the campsite and walk back toward the fire. “We should ward up.”

“What was it? Falmer? That would make sense, since this was supposedly an old falmer site.” He offers you a piece of dried meat.

“I don’t think so. It was bigger. Probably a troll.” You take a bite. The consistency is all weird. Apparently jerky doesn’t like getting rehydrated, but you know you have to eat something and all your bread’s turned into disgusting mush. 

“Well, that means there’s got to be a way out somewhere.”

“Yeah.” Your limbs feel heavy as you warm up and start to settle down. It’s been a long day.

“And at least we don’t have to feel bad about using this stuff now.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You’re fading pretty fast, huh babe?”

You lean into him and nod. He’s warm and solid and good.

He laughs. “Well, if we’re scavenging tonight, there’s a perfectly good bedroll right over there. I’ll get the wards up and join you, okay?”

You push yourself up and walk the agonizingly long six steps to the bedroll. You curl up in the warm, dry hay and are asleep before you know it.

* * *

If Karkat’s right, and there really are trolls somewhere in this cave, they didn’t get anywhere near your camp while you slept. You’re not sure if it was the fire, or if they just weren’t hungry after they got the last people who wandered in here. You decide not to question it too much.

Instead, when you get up you go around and check your things. The armor and pads are all dried, and your packs are only slightly damp. You’re gonna have to lay a lot of this out later if you don’t want it to get moldy, but for now it might be the best you’ll get.

Still, just for the sake of trying you feed the fire, stoking it up into a big strong flame again and rearrange your stuff so the wettest will be closest to the fire, where it’s warmer and drier. Then you go back to bed, squeezing in next to Karkat. It’s always been a little tough to get both of you into one bedroll, but it’s worth it. Oh, is it worth it.

Karkat’s breathing is gentle, deep, and steady. His face is soft and relaxed and content, the kind of expression he never wears enough when he’s awake. You stroke his back lightly. By now you must have traced every muscle, every bone a hundred times, but you’re still not sick of it. You hope you never get to be. He doesn’t smell half bad right now either, probably because of the soaking you got earlier. Not that you’re too concerned with the reason. All you want to do is bury your nose in his hair and keep him pressed against you. You tease at the two chains around his neck, riding that soft swell of pride you feel whenever you remember that he’s decided to put your ring right there next to his amulet. Even if he won’t put it on his hand before you actually get married (He says it’s bad luck. You just think it’s sweet he worries), he still wants to wear it, to keep you with him.

You’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna get through this together, and then you’re going to take him home, and he’s going to be wonderful. You know it.

Your mind flashes back to the memory of a few days ago, to that faltering smile when you said this would be your last adventure. It’s kind of funny, when you first met the guy he wanted nothing more than to get out of the hero business for good, and now he doesn’t want to hang up his pack. Well, you’ll just have to take him out into Ayleid ruins sometime.

Eventually, though, hunger forces you back out so you can try to scavenge up some breakfast. You search through satchels, barrels, even a few crevices in the rock. For all of your effort, you’re rewarded with a little bit of bread and cheese. You tell yourself it’s better than nothing and get to cutting it up. When you’re just about done, Karkat sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” He mumbles.

“Probably,” you say. “Hard to tell, since we’re in a cave, but yanno.”

He tromps over, pulls a shift over his head, and then plops down on the ground next to you. You offer him a water skin and he takes a long, deep drink from it.

“Ready to find some falmer ruins?” You ask cheerily.

“No,” he replies. “I need like fifteen minutes.”

“Heh, fair enough.”

He takes a piece of bread and nibbles on it, waking up more and more as he does.

“You sleep well?” You ask.

“Like a damn rock and you know it. You?”

“Pretty good. You were talking in your sleep.”

“If it was incriminating I deny everything.”

“No. Well, maybe. I couldn’t make it out, really. Honestly, some of it sounded almost like Falmer. Or maybe just _super_ growly Dunmeri. Miraak couldn’t figure it out either.”

He shrugs. “Who knows? I mean, they’re mostly the same except for a couple weird grammar rules, but you have to know those if you wanna read any old Dunmeri anyway, since we didn’t drop the imperative and immaterial shit until almost the third era.”

“Mmm, I love it when you talk anthropology to me.”

His ears go red and he looks away. “Fuck you.”

“No, seriously!” You kiss his temple. “It’s cute.”

“Whatever.” He gets up and grabs his clothes. “Let’s get going.”

“Sure.” You get to your feet and start putting things in your pack. Let’s find some trolls and-or ruins!”

“That’s the spirit,” he grumbles.

 Once you’re ready, the two of you head off into the dark once more. You’ve decided to go for torches instead of magelight this time, hoping that the fire will convince the trolls to keep their distance. You hear them grunting off somewhere in the misty dark, but you keep close to the wall and they don’t make any moves towards you.

As you keep moving, you notice that the cave is getting oddly lighter as it gets damper again. There are a few isolated pockets of glowing mushrooms, sure, but it almost seems like there’s light coming from the very rocks.

“Put the torch down,” Karkat whispers

If you look out where he’s staring, you can just see a pair of trolls through the mist. You slowly lower the torch and place it in the water at your feet. In the dim glow of the cavern, Karkat draws his bow and takes aim. He lets off two shots in quick succession, and the trolls fall.

“Nice!” you say.

“Keep your voice down!” he hisses. “There could still be more.”

Luckily, if there are, none of them come into view. But you creep carefully around the wall. You round the corner and see a pale figure up ahead. You think he might be naked until you get a bit closer and can see the difference in texture between skin and armor. His build looks elven, but you’ve never seen an elf that pale before. He ignores the two of you, standing there with his arms raised in front of some sort of shrine.

You look at Karkat, but he just returns your confused stare.

The man turns to you, lowers his arms, and says... something? You think you heard the Ayleid words for fear and don’t. His diction is crisp on the edges of words but smooth in the middle, an odd variation on the cadence you’d expect from a high elf.  

Karkat says something back.

 _“Don’t ask,”_ Miraak says, _“I don’t know any more than you do.”_

So you turn to Karkat and ask, “What is he?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out!”

You nod and shut up, letting Karkat do his thing.

* * *

The words come through crisp and clear, if not at all how you thought they’d be pronounced.

 _“Come forth. You needn’t be afraid,”_ The man says. In falmer. In ancient goddamn falmer. _“If Auriel has seen it fit to lead you here, I would never wish you harm.”_

 _“Who are you? What are you doing here?”_ Wait, no, you conjugated that wrong and now you probably sound like an idiot.

“What is he?” John whispers to you.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out!” you hiss back.

John nods and looks over to the man.

He stands proudly and says, _“My name is Knight-Paladin Gelebor, guardian of this way shrine. It is my sacred duty to welcome you to the Great Chantry of Auri-El.”_

 _“So we are there? These are the Falmer ruins?”_ You start walking forward. Your words come out a garbled mess compared to his, but at least he seems to understand you.

 _“Well, I prefer_ snow elf _these days, given the connotations I understand the word falmer now holds for surface dwellers, and I would hesitate to call this a ruin, but yes.”_

You just blink at him for a moment. Could he be? Nothing else seems quite right. You were thinking maybe albino Altmer, but there’s something very _not_ Altmer about the nose and the eyes and eventually you remember this is a real person you can speak to if you can remember how words work, dammit. _“So you’re a fal-_ snow elf _? Really? Are there more?”_

He frowns. _“I am, but sadly I believe I am the last of my kind.”_ As you step closer to the light he looks at you in confusion. _“Wait just a moment, who are you? How did you get that armor?”_

 _“My name is Karkat. This is John.”_ John waves. Oh good, even if he can’t fully understand what’s going on he’s at least trying. _“We travel and are… interested in_ snow elves. _And I found… this…”_

You trail off as you look up and notice the way he’s dressed. He lacks the helmet and the mail protecting his upper arms, but the rest of the armor is built and decorated almost identically to yours.

 _“An intact set of noble_ snow elf _armor is quite a thing to just find.”_

 _“It was in a Dwemer...”_ Shit, how would you say treasure chamber? _“Gold room?”_

He sighs. _“Ah, yes, I suppose that makes sense. Well, better you keep it then. I’m sure whoever owned it became one of the betrayed years ago.”_

 _“The betrayed?”_ You repeat. It sounds wrong to turn the word into a noun, but you’re pretty sure it’s what he said.

_“Yes, the ones you now call falmer, the ones promised safety in exchange for blindness and servitude, but were not told of how the poison would disfigure the minds and features of their descendants.”_

“Oh.”

 _“Indeed. But, if we are speaking of modern races.”_ He takes a few steps away from the little shrine and towards you. _“I have never met one of your kind before.”_

_“I’m a Dunmer. Well, half, anyway. Half Nord”_

_“Dunmer… Dunmer…”_ He mutters to himself. _“ah, descendants of the Chimer, I believe.”_

He knows about Chimer but not Dunmer? How long has this guy been here? _“Yes.”_

_“Well, it seems at least the daedra were kinder to you than the dwemer were to my brethren.”_

_“I…”_ You honestly don’t really know how to respond to that. Should it be a good thing? A bad thing?

 _“But I suppose now is not the time to dwell upon things that cannot be changed. We ought to focus upon what can be. You say you are interested in studying the_ snow elves? _How would you like to do that and help one?”_

You look nervously around the cave. _“What is it you need?”_

_“Let me show you.”_

He holds out his hands and a ball of light gathers between his palms. It’s like healing magic, but the glow is paler, nearly white. When he releases the energy it flows over to the altar, into the sun-shaped idol in the middle of the table. The alabaster stone absorbs it and then radiates it back out, illuminating the whole cave. There’s the sound of stone grinding against stone, as a massive gazebo rises from the ground.

“Oh wow,” John says. “That thing is like, really super magic. Do you think that’s good, or…?”

“It’s not good, John. It’s a gazebo.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know _that._ I mean like the magic this guy is doing. I know we’re primed to believe white and glowey is good, but he _is_ in the bottom of a creepy cave.”  

“Look, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna eat us.”

 _“What’s going on?”_ Gelebor asks.

_“John is… curious about the magic you’re using.”_

_“Ah, an ancient gift from Auri-El.”_

He leads you up the steps to the inside of the gazebo. On one wall a portal has appeared, the surface rippling like water on a windy day. You see a lot of black and purple, but not much else. In the center of the space is a large basin with a pitcher sitting on a small table next to it.

John smirks at you “Hey, if we go through that tunnel, is it kind of like the thing’s eating us?”

You reach over and smack him lightly.

 _“When the Chantry was still active,”_ Gelebor says, _“This would be the first stop for initiates. Darkfall cave would represent the unenlightened state in which the initiates would come to us.  They would take this vessel, and fill it with water from each of the wayshrines, symbolizing the wisdom gained at each and how it would serve to wash away their ignorance.”_

Gods, you wish your journal wasn’t wrecked. You’d love to be taking notes right now.

_“If you wish to see the inner sanctum, this is the path you must also walk. I believe this would be of interest to you.”_

_“Yes. Yes it would.”_

He lifts the pitcher. You reach out to take it, but he doesn’t give it up. _“But there is a catch.”_

“Of course,” you sigh.

_“I told you I was the last of my kind, but it was not always so. Even centuries after the Dwemer’s betrayal, a hundred or so of us remained here along with a few wise people of other races, guarding the wayshrines and serving Auri-El.”_

_“What changed?”_

_“The betrayed found us. They poured into the Chantry, slaughtering any who opposed them. Only two of us survived. I was spared since I am bound to the fringes of the Chantry, and the other… Our Arch-Curate, an elf named Vyrthur, he was… corrupted somehow. Twisted by the betrayed.”_

_“And I… should fix him somehow?”_

Gelebor smiles sadly. _“That, or kill him.”_

You look at John. He cocks his head to the side. Yeah, if this Vyrthur guy actually is evil, he’ll probably go for it. And, if not, that probably means Gelebor is actually evil and you won’t mind not fulfilling his request. _“Okay. We do it.”_

He lets out a sigh of relief. _“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”_ He finally hands you the pitcher. It’s heavy and warm in your hands. _“I am bound here and so cannot accompany you. However, you will not be alone. The other guardians remain bound to their wayshrines as well. Sadly they are… in worse shape than I. They are but spirits now and quite confused. They believe the Chantry to still be active, but they will aid you as they would have aided any other initiates in time past.”_

_“Better than nothing.”_

_“Alright. I wish the two of you the best of luck.”_

He steps back out of the gazebo.

“So what’s going on?” John asks. “I got about half of that I think? Like he’s a snow elf, and I heard a lot of stuff about souls and betrayal, and a lot of people dying, and if they do the same imperative thing the Ayleid do we’re supposed to kill somebody?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s most of it.” You dip the pitcher into the water. “We’re gonna find a bunch more of these being guarded by ghosts, fill up the pitcher, and then we get to go to the inner sanctum where we’re supposed to kill a supposedly evil guy.”

“And you’re gonna drool over architecture?”

“Probably,” you admit.

“Alrighty! Let’s go, then!” He strides cheerfully into the portal. The light ripples around him and then he’s gone. You think you see a little blotch of red from his tunic on the other side, but you’re not sure. Well, here goes nothing. You take the pitcher and follow him.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s dark when you go through the portal. That probably shouldn’t be much of a surprise, since you’re in a cave and all, but the chamber you were just in glowed slightly, allowing you to see reasonably well. Here there’s just total blackness aside from a soft pink light up ahead. Upon further inspection it looks like it’s coming from some weird tulip-looking things sticking out of stem-like stone tubes. The flowers open and close ever so slightly, almost like they’re breathing.

You hear boots on the ground behind you. “Shit, none of the light comes through, does it?” Karkat asks.

You turn and glance over your shoulder. The portal isn’t even there anymore. Or, at least, you can’t see it. “Looks like not.” You lift a hand and cast magelight. You see the orb grow in your hand, but when you let go it just vanishes.

“John?” Karkat asks nervously.

“Hang on, let me try that again…” You do, but get the same effect. Glow, poof, gone. You try a third time and still get nothing.

“You can’t have miscast twice, it’s fucking magelight,” Karkat growls.

“I know.”

“I mean, this is supposed to be the path of darkness or whatever, right?”

“Uh… maybe? You’re the one who speaks Falmer.” 

“Right. Well it’s supposed to be the path of darkness.” He sighs. “Well, at least we’ve got those things up there.”

The two of you move towards the light, but as soon as you’re within arm’s reach they retreat into the stone. Now that it’s even darker, you can see another set of tulips about fifty feet off. It looks like a straight shot, but the ground is uneven and slick with water.

“Great,” Karkat says. “So we’re supposed to blindly follow these things.”

“Yeah, but I have wind powers, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

You reach out, take his hand, and close your eyes. The air is fairly still in the cave, but there’s just enough movement for you to feel the way your path twists and turns. Putting all of your effort into focusing on where to go, you lead Karkat around through the darkness.

The cavern widens and Karkat inhales sharply. You open your eyes and, oh, you can see! Light radiates from glowing mushrooms and a few large blue cracks in the rock. There are six green, slimy pods larger than a cow affixed to the floor not far ahead of you.

“What are those?” You whisper.

“Hunter pods.”

“Huh?”

“When a chaurus gets old, it…”

An image flashes before your eyes, an intricate drawing of a massive flying insect with front legs like a mantis and four dripping fangs.

 _“Thanks,”_ you think.

 _“Well, being startled by one would likely be… bad,”_ Miraak responds. _“Though I’d rather limit my exposure to books in all honesty.”_

“What do we do?” You whisper.

“Follow my lead.”

Karkat takes his amulet in his hand and the ground shakes. A massive chaurus bursts from below with a series of familiar clicks and chitters. When Karkat’s chaurus’ clicking and chittering became familiar, you don’t know. He climbs up onto the monster’s back and offers you a hand.

“If we ride him in, they might not notice us and then they won’t hatch,” he explains.

You nod and take his hand. He helps boost you up onto the chaurus’ back and you slide on easily behind him. The creature scuttles past the pods. They don’t so much as wiggle. You say a silent thank you to every god that might have been in your corner for this one.

The two of you stay on the chaurus, in case there are some other pods you missed. It chitters quietly as it scuttles through the cave. You make it through the chaurus chambers and emerge in a falmer town unscathed. Normally you’d call it a camp or a settlement, or even a village, but this looks to you like a real town. Everything is still made of chaurus parts, but the architecture is far bigger and more polished than you’ve ever seen before.

But before you can even start to think about it, a falmer lurches out of the gloom. Karkat’s chaurus reaches out and grabs the falmer in its jaws, but before it can actually get the kill the falmer screams, alerting everyone else to your presence. The falmer growl and brandish their weapons. Their large bare feet smack against the rock as they rush towards you. You and Karkat slide off the chaurus and stand back to back.

You summon an atronach and Karkat grabs his sickles.

“Hey Karkat,” you say.

“Don’t,” he growls.

“Having fun on your adventure?” You ask, summoning your hammer to block an axe swing.

“I hate you so much right now,” he growls as he slashes at an enemy on his side.

You bash one away. “Heh, I love you too.”

It’s always been easier to talk than to think while you’re fighting people, or things that are almost people. Now is no different. You don’t count hits or kills or even steps as you edge your way to the far side of town. You just try to keep up a cheerful, teasing conversation until you’re in the clear. Once you’re past the waist-high walls they don’t pursue you any further. A few hundred feet more and it’s quiet again. You dismiss your hammer and Karkat sheathes his sickles.

“I hope there aren’t many more of those,” you say.

“Shhh, don’t jinx it!” Karkat hisses.

You’re starting to approach what looks like a dead end, but on the wall to your left you see a strange object. It looks like a weird bug head with glowing eyes and a long pole hanging down from its mouth. You and Karkat get closer to examine it.

“Dude,” you say, “are those gears?”

“It’s hard to tell, honestly. But if they are…” Karkat reaches out and pulls on the pole.

The gears – because they’re clearly gears now – start to turn. There’s the sound of stone on stone, and a large slab moves out of the way to let you through.

You let out a hushed cheer and are rewarded with a harsh snarl from the opening. Something brown with big claws and teeth lunges at you. You panic and throw a fireball in its face which, luckily, seems to work. It screeches and runs away, collapsing about fifty feet off.

“Nice,” Karkat says.

You summon your hammer and creep up to it, getting a closer look. The creature is only about the size of a dog, with brown speckled fur. When you look closer you notice the form is more feline, and when you nudge its head with your hammer it rolls slightly to reveal two long ivory fangs.

“Huh,” you say, “I think it’s a sabercat.”

“No way.”

“It is.”

He comes closer. “Damn. You’re right, but I’ve never seen one like that.”

“Well who knows where we are?”

You stand up straight to get a good look at your surroundings. It’s far brighter in here, with mushrooms like the ones you’d seen in Blackreach growing to the top of the chamber. A stone bridge reaches out in front of you to a small island covered in glowing flowers. Two small deer with the same speckles as the sabercat graze on the blossoms.

Karkat takes out his bow and shoots one right in the neck.

“What the hell?” you demand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you magic a few meals’ worth of food out of nothing when I wasn’t looking?”

“Right, good call.”

Karkat heads down and starts examining the flowers while you do a really quick field dress on the deer. Just leaving the guts behind will probably attract more of the sabercats, but as long as they don’t pounce on you you’re fine with that. Once you and Karkat finish up you’re out of here anyway. You’d guess that there’s another portal not too far from here. You dunk the carcass in the water to get rid of the worst of the blood, but then you kind of just have to awkwardly carry it over your shoulder up the stone path to get to the wayshrine, since there’s no way it’ll fit in your pack, and Karkat has to keep one hand on the pitcher so it doesn’t spill.  

The ghost of an elf stands before another small shrine. He says something in that same old falmer language that neither you nor Miraak can translate. Freaking awesome. But he does that same spell Gelebor did, and the shrine rises up to reveal another gazebo. Inside you can see a blurry shape you think was the first shrine. Karkat asks the ghost a question, but he just gives the same canned response. He tries a few more times with a few different combinations before throwing his hands up in frustration and just filling the damn pitcher.

 The ghost turns to you and tries to give you the same line.

 “Wow,” you say. “These guys are really out of it.”

“Yeah. Gelebor said they don’t even know they’re dead and they think it’s all just business as usual. He didn’t tell me that meant they were brain dead and utterly unresponsive, even if I ask like normal initiate questions.”

“Huh… Wait, you said Gelebor is stuck at that first wayshrine, right?”

“Right.” Karkat says. 

“Then how does he know what’s happening at the other shrines?”

“I-“ he blinks. “I didn’t think of that.”

“This is starting to feel a little weird.”

He thinks it over. “I mean, you’re abso-fucking-lutely right, but I still think it’ll be worth getting into that Chantry. Worst comes to worst, you can call in dragons for backup now.”

You laugh. “That’s true. And one way or another, we’ll figure out what he’s not telling us.”

It just looks like more cave on the far side of the portal. You hope it won’t be like this for all five of the wayshrines. This time, Karkat takes the lead and charges right through. Well, at least it’s a brighter cave this time. Even brighter than the one you just left. When you look up you realize you can see the sky. It’s a long way off, but a spiral stone path leads up from where you’re standing.

“Oh, thank the gods,” you sigh.

The two of you begin to climb. You hope you’ll find a nice spot to set up camp out up there; you’re getting really tired of carrying the damn deer. It’s not really that heavy, but it keeps threatening to slide off of your shoulder and you can feel the blood and water soaking into your shirt. But you forget all of that the moment you pop out of the hole. Before you stretches a wide, green valley wrapped in mist. Pointed arches made from alabaster stone come up from the ground, lining the path in front of you. Some have broken and are weathered, but it all looks very… Ayleid.

“I’m not sure we’re in the right place,” you say.

“What do you mean?”

You walk up to the nearest arch, inspecting the detail of the carving. “There’s a place like this between Chorrol and Skingrad. Jake took me there a few times when we were younger.”

“What, so you think maybe it took us all the way to Cyrodiil?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.  You close your eyes and try to remember what the lay of the land was like. At the time you were too excited to spend time with your older cousin. “I wanna say… there are probably more evergreens here? And I think maybe the columns were decorated different. I’m not sure.”

“Did they have deer like that?” He asks.

“Well, no, but we went through a portal since we got this guy.”

“Oh yeah.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Of course it’s easy for him to forget, he’s not lugging the thing around. “And even if it’s not the same exact spot, there are dozens of other Ayleid ruins I’ve never gone to, especially out east.”

“Hmm…” He wanders a short way off the path. “Huh, this is weird.”

“What?”

“There’s a little frozen pond over here.”

“But it’s summer.”

“I know. That’s why I said it was weird.”

You drop the deer and wander over to see for yourself. And he’s right. You wouldn’t say it was _hot_ in this valley, but it’s definitely warm enough that the ice should have melted. You reach down to touch it and find that it’s not an illusion. It’s a real frozen pond on the middle of a summer day.

“Let’s keep moving,” Karkat says. “We’ve got a few more hours of daylight and if we’re exploring this whole valley…” He pauses and looks around. There’s no way to even tell how big this area is. The mist isn’t bad, but it’s thick enough you can’t see the far side. “It might take a while.”

You hear a growl and a tearing sound from back on the path. You turn and see a small frost troll tearing chunks of flesh from your deer’s hind quarters.

“Hey!” You shout. “That’s ours!”

The creature looks at you, eyes wide, and then picks up the whole carcass and runs.

“Come back here!” You yell, taking off after it.

“John!” Karkat starts following “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I did not carry that damn thing all the way up here so a fucking troll could have it!”

You feel a strong sense of disapproval from Miraak, but don’t care. Trolls have stubby legs; you’ll catch up. But their stubby legs also come with really wide feet, which help the little shit a lot as it leads you up the side of the hill. Then when you get near the top you hit snow. But you are fucking determined. Far too determined to even really question the sudden transition to snow. You chase that troll out of the starting valley and into an adjacent one. It runs along a frozen river until it’s backed up against a waterfall.

“Alright,” you say, summoning your hammer. “Hand it over.”

The creature pauses and looks at the waterfall. All three of its eyes go wide as it finally manages to understand that it’s cornered. It drops the deer, and runs off past you, screaming.

“Success!” You jog forward and pick up the deer and turn back to Karkat.

“Seriously?” He asks, leaning heavily on the cliff face to catch his breath.

“Hey, man, you were the one that wanted this thing.”

Karkat grumbles something under his breath.

“You know, this might not be too bad of a spot to set up camp either,” you say. “I mean, we’re pretty well surrounded on three sides, and-“

An ear-shattering roar drowns out the rest of your statement. Loud footsteps come from behind the waterfall, and then you meet the thing that really made a frost troll run off screaming. Your first thought is that it looks as though someone took a frost troll and stretched it out. It’s nearly fifteen feet tall, slim, and covered in white fur. But the proportions are far more human than you’d see on a troll. It has two pairs of eyes, one stacked on top of the other, and curved horns grow from its forehead. It wears a raggedy loin cloth made from spotted fur, along with a few pieces you think might just be troll. The club it carries in its right hand is very much like the ones giants wield in Skyrim, except that instead of normal rock the head is made of strange blue stone.

“I thought frost giants were supposed to be extinct…” you say.

“Yeah, well, so were Dragons,” Karkat points out. He wedges the pitcher down between two rocks and draws his sickles.  

Instead of responding, you summon your armor and ready yourself. The giant stomps forward, raising its club. You and Karkat leap out of the way as it brings it down. Karkat goes for the back of the knees, digging his sickles into the tendons. It doesn’t collapse immediately, so you swing your hammer into its lower leg. You’re not entirely sure, but you think you probably hear a crack. The giant goes down on one knee, roaring in pain, but it’s a long way from dead. It tries to swing its club at you. You’re too close for it to hit you with the stone, but it manages to smack you across the shins with the wooden shaft. Thanks to your armor it doesn’t hurt too much, but you still wind up knocked off your feet. Luckily, you have a partner. While the giant has all four of its eyes on you, Karkat slices at its neck. Blood spills onto the snow and the giant clutches at its wound with one hand, flailing out with the other. Its movements are wild, unpredictable, but even a giant’s wingspan is only so big. You and Karkat back off as the swings become weaker and weaker until it finally collapses face down in its own blood.

Karkat kneels down to clean his sickles with the snow. “Well, that went pretty well.”

“Had tough hamstrings though, apparently,” You say, approaching it cautiously, in case it still has a little bit of life in it.

“Yeah, so we got it in three hits instead of two. I’m just saying it could have been a lot scruffier.”

“True.”

You kneel down next to the head of the club and delicately cut through the leather bindings holding it in place with your knife. The beautiful egg-shaped stone comes free easily and you turn it over in your hands. The stone itself looks like sapphire but it has a brighter, glowing pattern that fluctuates and moves around, almost like what happens if you hold a bird’s egg up to a bright light. At its widest point it has a band of stone around it, carved like the scales on a snake’s belly. In some places more stone sticks out of the band to cover more of the sapphire. The larger ones have an arrowhead-like pattern engraved in them while smaller ones simply break off, curving or wiggling to create delicate horizontal stripes.

“Huh,” you say, “not entirely sure what this is, but it’s really cool.”

“And probably really expensive,” Karkat remarks.

“I mean, I guess if we _have_ to sell it.” For now, you just stuff it into your bag.

“Hang on,” Karkat says, standing up and looking off into the distance. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” You ask.

He points, but all you see are a pair of shattered columns sitting alone on a dais a few hundred feet away.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird?”

“Karkat, there are tons of broken columns around here.”

“But those are in a path. These two are mostly by themselves. Come on.”

You huff. “Okay, but after that we’re setting up a camp.”

“Fair enough.” He tromps off through the snow towards the columns. You just have to pick up the deer and follow him.

When you’re about half way there, it occurs to you that the air isn’t actually that cold. It’s only slightly chillier than the other valley was, and yet the snow is everywhere.

When you finally make it, you see a little pedestal near the base of one of the columns. It’s made of the same kind of rock, but has an opening lined in gold that looks to be about the same size as the gem you just picked up. So you get it out of your bag, line it up, and gently place it in the opening. It goes in up to the band at first, but you hear something shift inside and then it slides down further. A blue portal flickers to life between the two pillars.

“Ooh…” you say.

“I wonder how the giant got that back out,” Karkat muses, looking deep into the opening.

“Don’t worry about that! I wanna see what’s through here!”

“Didn’t you want to set up camp?” he asks teasingly.

“Yeah, but now I need closure.”

It’s blindingly bright at first, because the floors and walls and ceiling are all made of the same alabaster stone, and it shines like it still gets polished regularly. Oddly, though you’re sure this is sunlight you can’t see to outside. There are windows, but they’re all held shut with decorative iron bars and even if they weren’t they’d be far too slim for you to fit through. Past the windows it just looks like there’s more of this same building anyway. There’s a large chest ahead of you, with a few gems and gold pieces scattered about, but you don’t see a door.

You turn around to double-check, and thankfully the portal is still there. So you’re not trapped. At least, not for now.

Karkat walks towards one of the windows to get a better look. He gasps and beckons you over. Past the bars you see chaurus and the twisted falmer you’re used to, all of them covered in an inch of solid ice.

“How do you even do that?” Karkat asks.

“One second,” you say.

Then you think, _“Hey, Miraak, how do you do that?”_

He feels puzzled for a moment and then responds. _“I don’t know. I mean, I can’t. I don’t know anyone who could. Perhaps this is snow elf magic?”_

You pass the message on to Karkat, who gasps and takes a step back. 

“Shit, I think I know where we are.”

“Oh?”

“This is the inner sanctum. Or a sealed off part of it. Those must have been the falmer that rushed it centuries ago.”

“But if this is the inside of a temple, what is this room even for? There’s no way in other than that portal.” your eyes go down to the chest. “Unless...”

You kneel down and open it. Gah! It’s more shiny stuff! You shift so that your shoulders block the sun and start to examine the loot.

“Huh, that’s cool,” you say. The chest contains a quiver of silver arrows, a silver elven helmet, and a smaller silver strongbox. You pick up the helmet to get a better look at it. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything like this.”

“No, you have.” Karkat takes off his pack and rummages around. He pulls out another silver arrow, the one he picked up the day you found Blackreach. Then he takes one from the quiver and holds them next to each other. They’re identical.

“Oh,” you say. “What does that mean, though?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess it means this is probably an ancient falmer arrow, but who fucking knows what _that_ means? Other than free good quality arrows.” He pulls the rest of the quiver out and you hear a clatter. He looks down and then dives back into the box.

“Find something else?” You ask, smiling at him.

“Hell yes I did!” He comes out grabbing a sickle made of the same silvery material.

“Huh,” you say. “That’s weird. When was the last time we actually found a sickle for you?”

He shifts uncomfortably and blushes. “I mean, I know it’s not most people’s weapon of choice, but…”

“Karkat, who cares? It obviously works for you.”

“Well… thanks for saying so at least. Do you think it’s enchanted at all?”

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely magic.” He hands it over for you to inspect more closely. “Ice magic it feels like?” You run your fingers along the blade and it gives you an uneasy feeling deep in your gut. “Oooh, and turn daedra. Nice.” You hand it back to him. “Definitely an upgrade from your normal elven one.”

“Sweet!”

He places it on his belt and then goes back into the chest, pulling out the strongbox and beginning to pick it open.

“I’m gonna set up camp,” you say.

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” he says, still distracted by the box.  

You can’t help but watch him as you prop up your pilfered tent and bedroll. He’s just so cute right now! First his tongue sticks out just a tiny bit as he focuses on the lock, then he lets out a little pleased exclamation as he sees all of the jewels that had been crammed inside, and once he gets the box safely stowed in his pack he takes his new sickle out and practices with it with all the energy and ferocity of a very determined kitten. Something about this feels profoundly right, important. This is very much his thing, and you’re just glad you get to be there to watch him enjoy it. Eventually, he notices you staring and scowls.

“What are you giving me that sappy look for?”

“Because you’re great and I love you.”

His ears go a little red. “Right um… do you need any help going and gathering wood or something? I mean, if we’re gonna be trying to cook or dry all that meat tonight we’re gonna need to get a big fire going.”

You laugh a little. “Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s do it.”

* * *

You gather up all the wood you think you’ll need plus some and then get to work butchering your deer. Thankfully, when the sun goes down it does get a bit darker. You eat some of the better cuts of meat and then leave the others over the fire to dry. The two of you sit back to back on the bedroll. John carves some random piece of wood he found just outside the portal, while you sharpen up your new sickle. Even when you just sit together in silence, the kind of situation that would normally make your brain tie itself in knots, you just feel comfortable. He’s magnetic, and now that you’re here next to him you’re stuck. Eventually you finish with the whetstone and sickle. You get up to store both of them when they belong, and when you come back, John’s stretched across the bedroll, giving you a look that either means he wants to lure you in for cuddles or sex or possibly one bleeding into the other. And you don’t even think about it really. Within a moment you’re there, lying on top of him, kissing and nuzzling every inch you can get to, and you wouldn’t leave for the world.

The next morning you’re the first one up. He’s still naked, pressed up against you, and you get to enjoy just being there with him. You get a profound sense of contentment and belonging as you lie there, pressed against him in a bedroll that’s really too small for two grown men, clinging to him as your only source of warmth in a cold, abandoned ruin. Why do you have the audacity to feel so at home in the middle of nowhere?

You don’t care, you need to savor this as long as you can.

You pretend to be asleep when John wakes up. He strokes your hair and kisses your forehead and it fucking _hurts_ deep in your chest _._ It shouldn’t hurt. What’s fucking wrong with you?

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he whispers in your ear. “We got a lot of ground to cover today.”

You groan. “Five more minutes.” Five more minutes to wait, to forget, to try to get back to enjoying this without feeling guilty.

“Hmmm, okay. But you’re doing it without me.” He clambers out of the bedroll.

“What? Why?” You ask with a little too much concern.

“Because it’s morning and I have to pee?” He lifts an eyebrow at you. “Sorry I stay hydrated?”

“Oh. Right.” You bury your face back in the straw.

His voice goes a little bit softer as he asks, “Did you have a bad dream about that or something?”

“What? You having to piss?” You snap.

“No. Me leaving.” He says as he pulls his clothes on.

“Something like that.”

He pauses and stares right at you.

“What?”

“Karkat, there is no response in the entire universe more suspicious than ‘something like that.’”

You huff. “I’m tired. Just go.”

“Okay, fair enough.” He stops to ruffle your hair and then makes his way through the portal.

You drag yourself up into a sitting position and rub your temples. You know you’re probably making things harder than they need to be, but still…

Ugh, you should probably just get dressed. You said you wanted to adventure. You might as well actually do it. It still takes longer than it ought to for you to get ready. John rushes back in before you’re even dressed enough to start putting on your padding.

“Holy shit, Karkat!” He yells as he skids to a stop in front of you.

“What?!” you demand, getting ready for a fight if necessary.

“I just remembered what today is!”

You look at him incredulously. “I mean, there’s only seven of them? Good job?”

“No! What today _is_ you dork!”

“Huh?”

“It’s the twelfth!”

“Oh gods…” You facepalm.

“So it’s your birthday!”

“Yes, John, I know.”

“Aw man, we should have stayed in Solitude a little longer! Heh, now I guess we’re both gonna have to have make up birthday days… I wanted to at least, like, make you a cake or something.”

“It’s not a big deal.” You shrug. “Honestly, I haven’t celebrated a birthday since I was sixteen.”

He looks at you like you just drop-kicked a puppy.

“What?”

He comes over and hugs you and pets your hair. “Do me a favor,” he says.

“What?”

“Never fucking tell my dad that. Ever. There will be so much cake.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You have _no_ idea,” he whispers dramatically.

You can’t help but laugh at him.

He smiles back at you and kisses you on the cheek. “So yeah, I’m being serious about the dad thing, and we should totally do something special later. But, for now I’m thinking we should probably set out. You’d rather cover more ground today, right?”

“Right.”

The two of you gather up your shit and head back out.

Thankfully, you didn’t get too far off of the path of arches, so it’s easy enough to find where you’re supposed to go. You have to backtrack a little bit to get one of the wayshrines you missed when you were chasing that troll, but that’s fine. It’s a little clearer this morning, too, so you can see more than twenty feet in front of you. The greener valley isn’t nearly as big as you were afraid it would be. Looks like most of your journey will be happening through the snow, which is just not fair because you adventured all winter and now it’s fucking Mid Year.  

Still, this is what you wanted. It’s what you asked for. So why do you feel bad?

John keeps looking at you kind of funny. After nearly a year together he’s probably learned your tells. He knows something’s up. But you know some of his tricks too, and he won’t pick at things he thinks he can ignore. You know that’s not a healthy way to deal with problems that aren’t demons living in your head, but for now you’ll use it to your advantage and pretend to be having a good time.

At least there are plenty of distractions. Spiders wait for you in the pass back into the frozen valley. As soon as you’re past them you’re back in troll territory. You’re honestly not much help in most of the little fights, because by the time the pitcher’s somewhere secure John’s usually bashed the enemy’s head in already.

In the middle of the valley you come across a vast frozen lake. Cold wind tears across it and bites into you. The cliffs rise up on either side of the lake, giving you no choice but to walk across. Great.

You have to do that awkward semi-sliding walk, carefully timing your movements and correcting so you don’t fall. You still almost eat shit a couple times. John does and gets increasingly bitter each time he pushes himself up off of the ice. It’s a good thing you’re carrying the pitcher, or you’d have to go all the way back to the beginning. Good thing all of the wayshrines are hooked up by portals. That would at least save you a little bit of time.

Then when you get about a third of the way across the lake it explodes. Two massive orange dragons fling themselves from the water into the sky, droplets of water raining down from their wings and scales.

“Shit!” You say, drawing your sickles. “Think we can handle two at once?”

“Actually…” he doesn’t move to summon his hammer. “I wonder if I could maybe… try talking to them?”

“Are you fucking crazy?” You demand.

“Yes. But also we can’t run around on ice.”

You grimace. You hate to admit it, but he’s right.

John takes a few cautious, toddling steps forward on the ice and shouts.

* * *

It still feels weird to yell in Draconic but not shout. It feels weirder to have Miraak speak through you. But it’s not like this would end well literally any other way.

 _“Stop!”_ you call. _“I do not want to fight you!”_

 _“Of course not,”_ one of the dragons roars back. _“You are pathetic/mortal/weak.”_

_“Then what honor and fun would there be in killing us?”_

_“Does a wolf seek honor from killing a rabbit?”_

_“Fair enough.”_ You just barely keep your expression even and prepare to summon an atronach. Well, can’t say you didn’t try.

 _“Wait, sister,”_ the other dragon says, _“There’s something different about this one.”_ That dragon lands in front of you, looks at you carefully with one huge orange eye. You can see your reflection in its massive lens, and the simple difference in size brings up an instinctual fear. This is a gigantic predator, one that could easily bite you in two. But you manage to stand your ground. _“My, my, look at this.”_

 _“Just say it already!”_ The first dragon demands, slamming down into the ice. _“Eternity is not long enough to sit through your wasteful/stupid/dramatic nonsense.”_

The second dragon scoffs. _“Well if you’re so impatient, it appears we found ourselves a dragonborn. If I recall correctly, we haven’t seen one of those in quite some time.”_

 _“Really?”_ The first dragon moves its head closer and sniffs you. Its breath is hot and smells like rotting meat. _“And quite a powerful one too, it seems. Hm… fine then.”_ The dragon kneels down, like a large goose settling down to rest. _“My sister and I are no fools/hatchlings/young. We can await safer prey.”_

 _“Well…”_ you say. _“We’ll just keep going then.”_

 _“Wait,”_ the second says. _“I want to know why they’ve come.”_

 _“They are here because_ everything _from out of time comes to the forgotten vale. There is a reason for the name.”_

The second dragon snarls. _“Well then, why they_ think _they came here.”_ She turns to you, fangs still bared. _“Ignore her. Tell me.”_

_“The snow elf chantry/temple/fortress.”_

The dragon turns and looks over her shoulder. You realize there’s a large structure on the cliff above, a large outcropping made of white stone, far too smooth and round to be natural.

 _“Without flying?”_ The first dragon snorts. _“A lot of effort to get there.”_

 _“Do you even know what awaits you?”_ The second asks.

 _“Ice?”_ You say. _“Frozen falmer and… large bugs.”_

 _“Really?”_ You ask Miraak.

You feel a flush of embarrassment. _“Chaurus weren’t around then! Or at least we didn’t know of them.”_

The second dragon blinks slowly at you, recapturing your attention. _“Is that all? Interesting.”_

The first dragon sighs. _“Let me guess, you’re going to want to sit around and watch them instead of helping me hunt.”_

 _“You know me well.”_ The second dragon turns back to you. _“Feel free to pass through our home/territory. Oh, and when you do get onto that balcony, call for me. My name is Naaslaarum. If you put on a good performance, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”_

 _“Okay, yeah right,”_ You think to Miraak. “ _What did she really say?”_

_“Exactly that.”_

_“Right, and I’m sure she said it with that tone too. I call bullshit.”_

_“John, you grasped their meaning at the same time I did. Just because you’re choosing to interpret it in an uncouth matter-“_

_“‘Uncouth’ my ass! You’re the one who’s doing all the interpreting!”_

“Are you okay?” Karkat places a gentle hand on your shoulder, bringing you back into reality.

“Huh?”

“You looked fucking constipated and started blushing and it’s weird.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it a little bit. Miraak sinks back down into the background. “Uh… let’s just say translation issues.”

He raises his eyebrows. “O…kay. So, what did they say?”

“We’re good, there’s something in the inner sanctum other than what we saw. And apparently the one wanted me to call for her when we get up there.” You point towards the round outcropping.

“So apparently we’re going up there,” he says, “Good to know. Don’t suppose you could call her back early to give us a lift?”

You look around. “Oh yeah, where’d they go?”

“Took off while you were just standing there like an idiot.” He adjusts his grip on the pitcher. “Well, guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

He turns in the direction of what looks to be an island a little further off and starts waddling gingerly towards it. You take a step to follow and immediately slip and fall, landing on your ass. Yeah, you probably should have asked Naaslaarum for help.

Well, live and learn.

You get back up and keep walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I think this is probably gonna be 5 chapters. Maybe 6? Depends how long the resolution takes. I have chapter 4 done anyway, but not chapter 3 because it's something different that I hope you'll enjoy.
> 
> But for now if you liked it please leave a comment and/or recommend to a friend. I know I've never been all that popular, but the more people who read this, and the more of those who let me know who they are, the better I feel about writing it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time. I kind of forgot that for how big the Forgotten Vale is there isn't a ton that's narratively interesting.  
> Anyway, happy holidays everyone. Glad I got this out in time for new years.

The little island in the middle of the lake has the third wayshrine on it. You again ask for directions, and are again given only the line about this being the shrine of resolution and blah blah blah. Whatever, not helpful.

But you figure maybe getting to the far side of the lake will help, so you shuffle all the way across. John seems to have gotten the hang of sliding across the ice. He only falls two more times as you make your way. And in the end you’re vindicated. Down the side of a hill and across the river you see the top of a wayshrine.

Now you just have to figure out how to get there. Hill might have been a bit generous of a description. As you get closer to the edge, you realize it’s almost a cliff, with what appear to be a few outcroppings of rock.

“This doesn’t seem right,” John says.

“I mean, no one’s gone through here in centuries,” you point out. “There might have been a bridge.”

There are definitely signs that this area was more built up once. You see broken columns strewn about, covered in a decently-sized blanket of snow. You take two steps, then your leg sinks down further than you thought it would. The world tilts to the side. Your weight shifts slowly, but it’s beyond the point of no return before you can correct. You see sharp rocks and the river below you, and you know that’s exactly where you’re going to end up. Your body tenses and you freeze.

Thankfully, John’s there. He reaches out and pulls you back upright. Both of you let out a sigh of relief as you realize you’re stable again.

“I swear to ever fucking divine and daedra in every plane,” you growl. “If I almost fall to my death one more time on this trip, I am going to go on a path of vengeance no realm has ever seen.”

John snorts.

“What?!” you snap.

“Nothing,” he’s grinning, and as much as you love his smile you vaguely feel like he might be patronizing you. “But you’re right, fuck this.” He holds out his hand and a torrent of flames spurt out from his palm.

“What are you doing?” you demand.

“Melting this stupid, slippery snow.”

You look down at the ground and it see that it’s definitely working. What starts as a tiny square of brown dirt grows and grows until you have enough space to walk. John keeps blasting the ground, and together you make your way down the side of the cliff. The ground itself is still a little slick with water but it’s nothing like trying to tromp through the snow.

Then you reach the river. Just across the way you see a ghost and the top of a shrine, just waiting to be activated. But getting over there... that’s going to be tricky. The river looks deep, and it’s still flowing strong and steady.  There’s a few small patches of ice that float along, but nothing that could hold your weight, even if you didn’t immediately tip it over. And you really don’t want to go for another swim. Especially not when it’s this cold.

“Any bright ideas this time?” You ask. “Like could you freeze the river or…?”

John looks at it warily. “I don’t think so. There’s too much and it’s moving too fast. Maybe Jane could, but I’m really more of a fire guy in the first place, so...”

“Right.” You sigh.

The two of you stare across the water for a few moments. The next shrine is _right fucking there._ If you have to hike all the way up this river and all the way back down, you’re going to fucking scream. You tell that to John.

He gasps and softly says, “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Maybe if we’re lucky it’ll trigger an avalanche and it’ll kill us.”

“No,” he says. “I just had an idea.”

“Huh?”

He gathers up a snowball and throws it across the river. It lands just on the far bank.

“Oh, great job,” you say sarcastically. “What are we going to do, make a bridge that way?”

“No. I’m gonna shout us across.”

“You’re _what?”_

He turns to you. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course, but this is a little-“

“Come on, Karkat. Do you trust me?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine.”

He grabs you by the waist and even with all your gear he manages to lift you a couple inches off the ground. Then he shouts.

You feel light, hollow. Air doesn’t just move around you, it moves _through_ you. The entire world is a blur for a short second, and then you’re solid again. John sets you down on the snow and takes a deep breath. The river’s gone, and the shrine is a lot closer. You look back over your shoulder and there’s the water.

“Woah. Um, good job.” You say.

“Thanks.” He throws his pack down in the snow and sits down on top of it. “But after the snow melting and then that, I think I’m gonna need a minute. Go do the shrine thing.”

John runs his fingers through his hair. It might just be your imagination, but you think his hand lingers on his temple a bit longer than usual. “Hey, are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m fine. I’ve got a little bit of a headache, but it should go away once my magic comes back.”

Ugh, you should have known. Stupid magic. This is why you don’t touch the stuff. You put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly and then offer him a potion. He smiles and thanks you, but when he drinks it he doesn’t immediately get back on his feet. Ugh, you bet Lydia didn’t quite dry the Elves Ear right again. Sure, it works fine as a _seasoning_ if you don’t soak it in salt water overnight first, but…Well, it should have helped a little, and you need the stronger stuff for emergencies.

You take the pitcher and make your way up to the wayshrine.

 _“Welcome,”_ the ghost says, _“To the shrine of learning. You are now halfway through your journey.”_

 _“Halfway?”_ You ask, _“But isn’t this shrine four?”_

The ghost ignores you and casts his spell.

You try one more time, and the ghost still doesn’t react.

“Stupid fucking piece of shit asshole ghosts,” you grumble to yourself. “Bet these guys were useful as a withered leg on a horker when they were alive too.”

You try to scoop up some water without letting too much of the old stuff spill out of the jug and wonder if there’ll be a drop of the water from the first shrine left when you reach the fifth. Fucking tribunal, why are you even doing this? You could be done. You _should_ be done. But if you’re not doing this anymore, that means-

The portals flicker to life in front of you as you withdraw the pitcher. And, yeah, that makes four: the first one Gelebor activated plus the three wayshrines you’ve been to before this one. There should only be one left.

...So why did the ghost say halfway?

John’s still sitting down when you come back out.

“You get the stuff?” He asks.

“Yep. Should we keep going, or-?”

John winces, but then tries to go on to say, “Yeah, I think I’m-“

“Ugh, stay down then, you big oaf.”  Oh shit, he looks hurt. Abort. Abort. “I mean, um, I don’t want you to push it. And it’s probably about lunchtime anyway, right?”

He starts fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Probably I guess. But if you want to keep going we don’t have to stop because of me.”

“Why not? You normally stop because of me.” You reach into your own bag and pull out a couple large pieces of jerky, handing him one.

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the offering. Instead of following that up with anything for you to go off of, he just starts eating.

“So, um, we’re up to four out of five now,” you say. “Then we can go explore that inner sanctum place. You’re normally into that kind of stuff, right?”

“Uh-huh,” he says.

“You know, going into strange places that could easily get us killed. Fighting ancient evil. I know that’s kind of your thing.”

“Kind of.”

“John, you’re being incredibly difficult right now!” you growl. The second it leaves your mouth you regret it. But it’s too late.

 _“I’m_ being difficult?” He snaps. “Well _I’m_ sorry, maybe next time I’ll just let you get eaten by a fucking dragon or fall off a fucking cliff, or maybe even freeze to death trying to cross an icy-ass river!”

“Shit, John, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m such a stupid idiot...”

“And don’t just reflect by curling up and calling yourself names! It doesn’t help, it doesn’t even make me think you’re sorry, it just makes me feel bad!”

“Well I _am_ sorry, okay? I’m sorry I dragged us out here.” You bury your face in your hands.

“Karkat?” John asks softly. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You sniffle. Shit.

He sighs. “Look, if I thought it was that bad of an idea I could have said no. I would have said no. But I wanted to try to do this with you. I mean, I thought it would just be a ruin. Maybe even a big ruin, but not like this.” He gestures out towards the river.

“We can turn back, you know,” you say.

“What, and let you spend the rest of your life regretting it? I don’t think so.”

“Well regret’s a tricky bitch,” you point out. “Something could happen that makes us regret doing this.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather know.” He shoves the rest of his jerky into his mouth. “Es go.”

“You sure?”

He nods and stands up.

“Okay. Now we just have to find out which way is-“

He points off upriver and you see more of the broken arches. “Oh. Guess you got a good look around while I was in there.”

He smiles at you and bends down to pick up his pack. Together the two of you hike back upstream, following the arches as you go. But as you go further uphill things start to look familiar. Oddly familiar. Then you get up a little higher and you see a frost spider that had been squished by something vaguely hammer-shaped. Then you see another. Then you get to the top of the hill and you can see into the goddamn first valley again.

“Oh my fuck,” you say. “That’s why he said halfway.”

“Huh?”

You sigh and look back towards John. “We went through in the wrong order. That was supposed to be the third wayshrine.”

“So the path wasn’t right?”

“So we took a long turn somewhere.”

John gapes at you. “But this valley is huge! How are we gonna track the last wayshrine down?”

“I know.” You march off down the hill.

“Karkat? Where are you going? Shouldn’t it be in the snowy bit?”

“I don’t fucking know, but I’m gonna go ask the only person who does that’ll listen to a damn word I say.”

“Karkat, I’m listening to you. Why are you being so-“

“Okay, sorry I wasn’t counting you. Ugh why can’t I-“ You catch the disapproving look on John’s face and remember what he told you less than 20 minutes ago about putting yourself down. “We’re going back to talk to Gelebor. I think the shrine down here is the closest, and then we can go through the portal back to the cave.”

“Oh!” He beams brightly at you, and for a moment it feels like everything is okay again. “That’s a great idea, babe.”

The mist has rolled in again, but you manage to retrace your steps to the Wayshrine of Sight without too much trouble. The ghost tries to feed you his canned line again, but you go right past him. You might have normally felt a little bad, but with how far gone he is you doubt that he even really knows you’re there, so fuck that useless whatever fraction of a soul.

You only pause for a moment to make sure that you head through the right portal, and then you’re back in front of Gelebor.

 _“Where’s the fifth one?”_ You demand.

 _“The fifth wayshrine?”_ The elf asks. _“Oh, that one was always the furthest out of the way. Is part of the path broken.”_

 _“More like non-_ fucking _-existent! We’ve got a few arches and nothing else. Then we tracked all the way across the lake and-“_

_“Well, that’s not right. That lake was always only used for contemplation from above. You weren't meant to cross it.”_

_“Well that would have been great_ fucking _advice three hours ago!”_

Gelebor frowns. _“Listen, I told you I did not know what lay ahead. I am not even certain how long it has been since the betrayed attacked.”_

 _“Just tell me how to get there,”_ you growl.

_“Um... give me a moment. It has been many centuries since I last walked the path. You start at the Wayshrine of Resolution, then the path would go upward, against the side of the mountain. That will lead you through a deep, narrow cavern, if memory serves.”_

You sigh. _“Well, it’s better than nothing. Thanks.”_

Gelebor smiles. _“I shall provide you any other aid I can. Simply return if you need anything.”_

You give him an affirmative grunt and head through the portal to the Wayshrine of Resolution.

“So, um, what’s going on?” John asks as he follows you.

“Oh, right. We’ve got something resembling directions. Plus or minus a few centuries.” You look around for a few moments, trying to get your bearings.

“Got it,” John says. “Oh man, I’m kind of looking forward to going somewhere everyone speaks cyrodillic.”

“I mean, it’ll be nice not to have to translate,” you admit, giving him a little smile.

“I think you’ll like it back home. Or… at least I hope you do.”

Fuck, you don’t want to go have that conversation. “Sure. Anyway, Gelebor said something about a path that leads up the side of the mountain. I think that might be it there?” You point ahead.

“Uhh… maybe?” He squints and lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. “It looks more like a path than anything else, I think.”

“Alright,” you say. “Let’s give it a shot.”

The two of you head up and around. Soon you come across a stone bridge, so worn by wind and age that it almost looks natural. And it’s hard to tell from this angle, but on the far side you think you can just see a slim valley turning away from you towards the right. Then you actually get there, and find yourself stopping dead in your tracks.

This little canyon is like nothing you’ve ever seen, even in Dwemer ruins.. Huge bridges made of chitin cross the chasm ahead of you, random and crossing at weird angles like a child’s first sewing project. On some of the lower bridges you see what appear to be falmer huts perched upon stone outcroppings.

“Karkat?” John says.

“Yeah?”

“You’re seeing this too, right?”

“Yep.”

“But… we’re outside.”

“I know.”

“Gods,” he breathes, “there must be hundreds of them here.”

You tear your eyes away from the buildings and look over to him. “Well, at least there won’t be Chaurus. They can’t physically stand sunlight.”

“We should still be careful, though.”

“Well obviously,” you grumble.

He rolls his eyes and casts muffle on the two of you. Thanks to the magic it’s completely silent. You can’t even hear the snow as it compacts beneath your feet as you creep through the canyon. Your prints are still clear in the bright sun, especially as it reflects off the pale stone and white snow around you, but that shouldn’t make a difference. Falmer are blind, and even if they realized the tracks weren’t theirs they wouldn’t be able to track you down.

As you approach the first bridge, a falmer above lets out a harsh cry. Even though you’re muffled, you still freeze for a moment. Maybe there was a problem with the spell? Or their ears might be even better than you thought.

When there’s no follow up, you start walking forward again, moving more slowly this time.

Then there’s a second call. Before you can react, Falmer start pouring out of the walls. You draw your weapons but otherwise don’t move. It could still be a false alarm. Maybe if you’re lucky they won’t be able to actually find you. Then when they get closer you realize their eyes are open. They’re all a striking pale blue and focused right on you.

“Wait, what the fuck?” You demand, lowering your sickles slightly, “You assholes can _see?”_

“That not all we do,” one of them growls in reply.

The band closes in on you, surrounding you but keeping enough distance that you and John would have to charge to get an attack in. They brandish the same scruffy swords and axes you’ve seen a hundred times before. 

“Okay, um…” John dismisses his hammer. “If you can talk too, we didn’t want any trouble.”

“Then why you trespass?” Another falmer growls.

“How were we supposed to know we could talk this out?” You demand.

“No talk out. No trespassers!”

“Maybe,” John says. “We can just leave. No trouble.”

“You no leave! You tell other nords we here! They come kill us again!”

“Stop it!”

A female falmer emerges. She wears something almost like robes made from spotted fur, and has a long necklace made of glowing stone. She comes so close you could easily reach out and touch her. She uses her long staff like a cane, propping herself up. Even standing straight she’s still head and shoulders shorter than you. She squints up at you and sniffs deeply.

“Stupid fucking idiots!” She squawks at the other falmer. “These not nords! They not look like nords, not smell like nords, not have nord magic!”

The falmer with the biggest armor scampers over to her. “Then what are they, wise one?”

“Don’t know.”

“How we know they not just weird nords? They not cliff people, too smart to be cave people, not ghosts.”

The female lifts one wrinkled old hand and traces one of the sideways 69s carved into your armor. “Why you have Lady’s symbol?”

“Wait, is this supposed to be female armor or something?” You ask. “Well, I guess it could be. I just found it.”

She cocks her head to the side. “You a male? That explain why you charge in stupid, why you not know what you wear. But not all females, just Lady. You know Lady?”

“Look,” you say, “I have no idea who you’re talking about, or who this lady is. But this isn’t just her sign. I mean, I got this armor on… really far away. And I’ve got this,” you pull out your amulet. “-Which is an old Nord thing.”

The female looks at you, her tiny eyes wide. Then she turns to the others. “We take him to Lady.”

“And the other one?” The heavily armored falmer asks.

She scoffs. “I no care. Kill if want. Let go if want.”

“No,” you say. “He comes with me.”

The female gives you an unimpressed look. “Fine. Lady decide what do with both. And you,” she turns to the armored one. “No mess up.”

“Yes, wise one,” he says, bowing his head.

She retreats back into her hut, but the other falmer don’t move.

“Alright,” the armored falmer says. “We take to Lady!”

“To Lady!” the others repeat.

He turns and starts leading you through the valley. The other falmer prod you with spears and swords, forcing you to follow as they take you around through the valley.

The huts are still small, but much larger than ones you’d normally see. Chitin still seems to be the main building material, but you also see stone, even wood. You see more falmer, both male and female. For the first time you also see children. They’re less wrinkled than the adults, blue eyes wider and posture more straight. You wonder if they’ll become twisted in time too, or if maybe somehow they’re going to be as different from their parents as these falmer are from the ones below.

“So, um,” John asks. “Who exactly are you?”

“I Rok-korr of clan Kahrn. I lead guard.”

“Okay, hi Rok-korr. But I mean more like, who are… all of you? What is this place? Why aren’t you like… well…”

“Ah, like cave people.” Rok-korr says.

“So are cave people like… normal falmer?”

He growls. “Not normal. Broken. The females keep stories. Cave people forced underground by Nords, broken by poison. We more normal. Lady find us one day, give us un-poison. We break away from other cave people. We learn see, learn new potions, learn new tools. We build homes on cliffs.” He gestures upward. “Now we cliff people.”  

“So this Lady,” you say. “Is she in charge?” 

“No, Lady not falmer,” He says. “Lady is Lady. Wise-ones, oldest females, they in charge of clans. Wise-ones keep clans as friends, make deals. Come together to make choices for all Cliff People. Lady help sometimes, and she is wise, but not a wise-one.”

“Okay…” you say, trying to piece together what he said.

“What about you, Rok-Korr?” John asks. “You seem to be in charge of these guys.”

“Yes,” he says proudly. I am strongest male in Kahrn, so I command other males, until one beat me or I die.” 

“But you’re not a wise-one, right?” You ask.

“What, you stupid? I am _male._ What, you have males run things? When we go off to fight and hunt and maybe die? When we not at home to learn stories? Stupid.”

You and John exchange looks. He seems slightly amused by the whole thing, like he thinks you’re sharing some inside joke. Probably about his role in politics and now… you suppose yours, by extension. Your stomach does some weird acrobatics and your heart starts to race. It seems like every eye on the valley is on you, watching and judging your every move. Just waiting for you to fuck up, to say the wrong thing so they can jump on you and rip your throat out. John’s smile falls and he gives you a look of concern. You realize you probably look fucking constipated and force a small smile.

Rok-Korr doesn’t seem to care. He just goes on. “I mean, wise-ones listen sometimes. I see what happen outside more. But if I become old and not die, I become teacher. Help young males learn fight and hunt before they leave cliffs. Maybe have Laakra tell me more stories.”

“Laakra is his mate,” one of the others says. “She very smart. Maybe wise-one someday.”

Rok-Korr smiles. “Yes, maybe someday.”

You quickly approach what appears to be the far side of the canyon. You look around, desperately trying to find any sign of the fifth and final wayshrine. But there’s nothing. No sun statue, no dome, not even an annoying ghost that repeats one line over and over. What you find instead is a crack about fifteen feet high cutting deep into the wall. Then you realize what you took to be the white rock of this area is actually ice, and you’re looking into the interior of a glacier that’s wide enough to block off the whole canyon.

“You think that impressive?” Rok-Korr asks smugly, “Wait when you get inside.”

The opening is just a little tight and winding, but then it branches out every which way. The glacier’s hollow. Or, rather, it’s _been_ hollowed. You see scrape marks on some of the edges, though others are perfectly smooth. You wonder if they’ve formed naturally or if the walls are just in a perpetual state of melting and then freezing again. You’re worried about your footing at first, but then you realize that the ground is covered with what appears to be a mixture of gravel and sawdust. Through some of the openings you see interiors that look just like those of the huts, though they’re lined with fur. In others there are weapons and armor. Several have large slabs of meat pressed up against the ice to keep them preserved. Further in you come across a few chaurus pens

“How did you build all this?” You ask.

“We have too many Cliff People. We not have war for long time, so no one die, and Some Cave People want be Cliff People. But only so many cliffs. We use axes, cut new caves in ice cliffs. Maybe not good as real cliff house, but better for old Cave People. Most no like sun at start. And! We have chaurus! Good friends, then they die and good food. Chaurus no live outside. Only in ice cliffs.” Rok-Korr’s voice is filled with enthusiasm, and he gestures widely as he speaks.

“Yeah,” John says. “This is really cool.”

“Of course it cool! Ice cold!”

“He means you’re right,” you add. “It is impressive. We are impressed.”

“Good. I was too!” his voice gets soft. “Rok-Korr once warrior chief of clan of cave people. Some cliff people come down, tell this place. We no believe at first. Then one day mushrooms get bad. Chaurus die. People die. My mate die… But! Those who live come here. We move into new clans. Find new mates. I just wish we go sooner…”

“Um, there, there?”

 John reaches out to pat him on the shoulder and the falmer all snarl and turn to point your weapons at you. Both of you jump, hold up your hands in a sign of surrender.

“No touch,” Rok-Korr says. “You seem okay, but are prisoners for now. Yes?”

“Yes,” you and John both repeat.

Rok-Korr turns away and starts leading again. “Oh! I tell you about captive ice giants? We have ice giants. One in here, one out there. They no like each other, but if we ever attacked-!” he swings his sword excitedly.

You think you see the sun up ahead again.

“Aw, we almost there,” Rok-korr says. “Be good for Lady. You okay, odd-ones. I not want kill you.”

“Yeah,” John says. “We’d rather you not kill us either.”

You leave the cavern and you, of course, see more falmer architecture. There’s the scaffolding and chitin huts you’re used to, but nestled within a gap in the rock you see a much larger structure made of wood. Two more falmer dressed in heavy armor stand on either side of the door.

“What is that?” You ask.

“That meeting house. Wise-ones gather there when moon is full, but Lady live there always. She take care of it.”  

“Rok-Korr?” One of the guards asks. “Who they?”

“Trespassers. My wise-one say bring to Lady.”

“Hmm…” The guard inspects you closely. “Hmph. We talk more later about odd trespassers.”

“More later,” Rok-Korr agrees, nodding and grinning widely.

The guards open the door and Rok-Korr steps forward. “Odd-ones stay here. I tell Lady you coming.”

He scampers off into the house.

“So…” you start to say to the guard who had spoken to Rok-Korr, but he just glares at you. You take that as a sign to be quiet.

You stand there for a minute or so and then Rok-Korr sticks his head back out. “Lady see you now.”

He opens the door all the way, and you and John follow him into the building. The band of falmer follows you, and eventually your massive group squeezes its way through the door.

The interior reminds you an awful lot of one of the longhouses in a smaller hold. There’s a long firepit along the center of the hall, and at the side opposite the door you see a small dais. A nord woman sits in a chair (it’s decent, but you wouldn’t call it a throne) perched upon the raised platform. She’s dressed fairly simply, in a faded red dress with cream sleeves. Her pale hair falls in gentle curls to just below her jaw. As you get closer, you realize she’s rather old, with thick wrinkles on her chin and around her eyes.

At that same moment, she gasps and gets to her feet.

“By the nine,” she says, taking a few steps forward. “It can’t be…”

You look at John, expecting some dragonborn or daedric or maybe even political nonsense. But he looks just as confused as you are. Then she calls your name. You turn and stare back at her.

“You are Karkat, aren’t you? Karkat Vantas. Oh, you look just like your father…”

“Do I know you?” you ask. Your hands are itching to grab your sickles, but you’re still surrounded.

The woman looks shocked and hurt: mouth agape, eyebrows high, hand gently pressed to her chest. Then she smiles sadly. “No, I suppose you probably wouldn’t. And I don’t know you half as well as I should.” She lowers her arm, and that’s when you see the symbol embroidered into her bodice, a sideways 69 made with silver thread. “You’re my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter isn't up to my usual level of quality. I had a lot of trouble writing this and in general I've just felt really unmotivated. If you could leave some sort of comment I'd really appreciate it, especially at this point. 
> 
> If nothing else, the next chapter's actually been written for a while and it's very different and I really like it and that will be up next week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, something a little different this time. Back to your normally scheduled nonsense next week.  
> I'm a little nervous about this one, but I've been working on it for over a month. Hopefully you like it.

You always thought that the whole ancestral cycle thing was a load of fucking bullshit. Maybe it’s because you had it rammed down your throat constantly since you were a little girl. Oh Katya, your mother would always say, you have to do this and that and the other thing while keeping up the appearances of a good lady and blah de blah de blah. Your brothers never had to worry about any of that shit. They got to go off and work or adventure until they decided to settle down and marry whoever the fuck they wanted. They could just be regular nords. You got lesson after lesson about the history of the snow elves. About their language, their culture, and how this had been passed down from mother to daughter since the mythic era. You mother was convinced that even though you were, by all means, a gooddamn nord with less than a drop of elven blood in her veins that it was still “a great honor” to have the torch passed on to you. And your mom was fucking _into it_. She accepted her arranged marriage with dignity and wore the amulet of Edelkreps, the simple ugly thing that it was, with pride up until the day she died. And she expected you to do the same.

 _Keep the flame alive, Katya,_ your mother had said in the old, dead tongue. _It’s the light of hope our people have carried for centuries. It’s yours now. Don’t let it go out._

She clasped your hand over the plain silver chain and then she let go. No sign of love. No mention of her husband, or your brothers, or even the husband she’d married you off to, one that was rich enough you could spend the rest of your life trying to pump out a coveted daughter so she could go through that same shit. “Our people,” bah, as though they hadn’t all died or devolved into twisted animals centuries ago.  

At least she didn’t ask you the last time you fucked when she was on her deathbed. While your mother was still alive, she was fucking obsessed with your sex life. And it felt kind of weird and awkward telling her about it, but it was even more awkward when you had to explain that no, you weren’t pregnant this time either even though yes, you’d fucked your husband, over and over at all points in your spotty, irregular cycle. She was sure it was a rough patch, that maybe you just weren’t quite “ripe” yet (You hate, hate, _hated_ that term, but she insisted on using it).

You had always wanted to tell her off. To get a messy, loud divorce and claim your life for your own. But you didn’t. Because you’d always been a good girl. And something about disappointing her just… it twisted your guts up to think about. But you don’t know why you stayed married after she died. Your mother died after two years, but you kept your head down for fifteen. You still don’t entirely know why.

Maybe it was because even though it was completely hollow your marriage wasn’t _bad._ Your husband, Ergan, was loud, boorish, and a bit slow, but he was always respectful of your boundaries. He at least knew you were smarter than him and gave you free reign to do whatever you wished. And he was an alright lay, all things considered. You’d had better and you knew he liked your maid better than you, but he could at least get you off most of the time. And the Cruel-Seas were rich enough that you never had to work or worry about where your next meal was coming from. You’d always been a voracious reader and had the snow elf knack for alchemy, so now you could buy whatever damn books and ingredients you wanted and spend hours mixing potions or escaping into the worlds of other people’s problems.

You thought that would just be the rest of your life. Fuck tradition, fuck the prophesy. The last Sunheart daughter was barren and there was nothing anyone could do about it. You’d get old and die surrounded by your books and potions and they could melt your stupid ugly pendant down for all you cared.

Then one day you went to the Gray Quarter. You didn’t normally wander down there, but last time you were in the White Phial Nurelion told you that there was an apothecary in the area that had some ingredients you couldn’t get anywhere else outside of Morrowind. And, well, what did you have to do other than experiment? You pulled the hood of your cloak up, hoping no one would notice a human among a sea of elves, and wandered among the throng of people, trying to make sense of the winding, overbuilt streets. It must have been fate that one of your wrong turns put you right in front of him.

Kankri Vantas stood on a ramshackle stage in a small square packed with people. Of course you’d heard of him. Even in the upper parts of town, everyone knew of the elf that willingly came here from Morrowind, who’d set up preaching peace and tolerance, who’d managed to build a coalition with the fucking Argonians. There were a lot of Nords in the city who were terrified of him. He was seen as a threat, even though he never did anything but talk. And now you knew why.

Of course, you didn’t understand a damn thing he was saying. After all, no self-respecting Nord woman would be caught dead learning Dunmeri in this city. But he was so animated, so passionate. There was pain in his voice, and yet it was overwhelmingly kind, gentle. You were completely ensnared in his verbal net, and you had no desire to get free. Instead you just edged your way step after step closer to the stage.

You don’t know how long you stood there. However long it took him to finish his speech, you suppose. He got off the stage, but before he could leave a few other people came up to speak to him, others offered him things, and slowly the crowd started to fade away aside for the three he’d first approached. You waited a moment too long, and the two of you made eye contact. He smiled and started walking towards you. You knew you should run, but all of the damn ladylike programming kicked in, holding you still.

“Hello,” he said, his Cyrodillic accent cleaner than you’d expected it to be. “It’s somewhat rare for me to see a Nord at one of my speeches. Without a torch or pitchfork, anyway.” He smiled at his own joke, and it was fucking _radiant._

“I’m sorry, I was just passing through.”

He smirked. “Passing through pretty slowly. I saw you watching.” His bright red eyes were striking, but not accusatory, his soft facial features set into an expression of openness and understanding. You felt warm.

“Oh, well, I…” You attempted to come up with an excuse and failed. So you defaulted to a compliment. “You speak quite well.”

“Thank you. You know,” he looked you up and down. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to talk with you more. You seem to be a woman of some standing, correct? Perhaps we could work out some sort of partnership that could benefit our people’s relations.”

“I’d prefer not to stay out here too long. It looks like it might rain.” A reasonable excuse. It was cloudy that day.

He nodded. “Completely understandable. I’m sure you have business to attend to. But if you have a bit of time, there’s a tavern nearby that has some nice quiet spaces where you and I could… talk.”

You hoped the way he said that last word meant the same thing as it did in other parts of the city. What the hell? It’s not like you had anything better to do. You smiled back at him. “I think I’d like that.”

To be fair, you did talk. You talked for hours and hours about everything: His cause, his family, your family. But he was so enticing. The way he moved, the way he spoke, his deft expressive hands and the soft curve of his lips as he gave you word after word. It wasn’t nearly as long as it should have been before you needed to feel those lips with your own, before you needed his hands had to stop moving so they could settle heavy on your waist. And after you gave into those needs it was only a matter of time before he was on top of you, giving you more passion than your husband could muster in ten lifetimes.

Once you caught your breath, you stood up, dressed, and went to the door.

“In case you were wondering,” Kankri said. “I enjoyed that. All of it.”

“As did I.”

“Will I see you again?” He asked nervously.

“I don’t think so,” you replied.

By the time you shut the door behind you, you were already aware it was a complete lie.

Week after week you came back. Week after week he’d invite you to the tavern and you’d talk about his speeches and his life and your life and you’d invariably wind up rolling around in one of the filthy hay mattresses at that run-down shithole. Every time you’d get up and get dressed, and every time you told him it would be the last time.

But then one day after his speech he made you a different offer. “Would you like to come home with me?”

You smirked over at him. “That a new come on?”

He chuckles. “Perhaps later. No, it’s more…” He ran his fingers through your hair. “Katya, we’ve been doing this for a while. And I know this has to stay a secret with your family, but I think I’d like you to meet mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Baralma is concerned, as always, and Hla-kri is curious. My other housemates have been less vocal, but I still think they’d like you.”

You snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Why not? You’re very likeable.”

You rolled your eyes but begin walking with him. “You and your flattery.”

“Hmm, true. But I mean it.”

“And it works.”

“Good! When I left Baralma is making a nice stew for everyone to share tonight. I’m certain we can stretch it to feed one more.”

“Oh…” You stopped walking. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no trouble, really.”

“If I come with you, will you take my damn money for once?”

He thinks it over. “I suppose if it convinces you to meet my son, I’ll do it.”

You shoved your entire purse into his hands.

“Katya!”

“Let’s meet your son. Come on, now.” You gestured for him to take the lead and quietly, almost nervously, he did.

The house wasn’t far. It took maybe five, ten minutes to reach it. Kankri opened the door and called out something in Dunmeri, presumably letting everyone in the house know he was there.  He led you into the front room and offered you a seat in an old wooden chair. A young boy peeked nervously out from behind the door. His clothes fit him poorly, with his tunic reaching his knees and his trousers rolled up several times. When he caught sight of you he shrunk back a little.

 _“Ati?”_ He said softly, “Who is this?”

“Oh, you must be little Kankri.” You crouched down a little bit and offered him a hand. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry.”

“Excuse me?” He said, scowling. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I may only be nine years old, but I find it incredibly offensive that you are literally and metaphorically looking down on me. This is blatant ageism. Also, you’re treating me like an animal and given some of the stereotypes that are often spread in Nordic parts of the city has implied racist connotations as well.”

“I, um, I’m sorry? You’ve got a great vocabulary.”

“What? For someone of my age? Race? Socio-economic status? _Ati,_ can I talk to you for a moment? I mean no offense to this person, but I find it somewhat problematic that-“

“Kankri,” He chides. “What do we say?”

He pouts and looks down at his foot. “Everyone and everything is problematic, so we need to foster understanding instead of being accusatory, especially when someone is trying their best and just needs to keep working on unlearning problematic behavior.”  

“There you go. Now come here.” The boy runs over and stands next to Kankri, half hidden behind him. Kankri leans down and gives him a brief hug. “He’s been really into reading Sejewna recently, isn’t that right?”

 “The second era philosopher?”

The boy nods ecstatically.

“Wow, that’s a rather obscure one. I’m surprised you managed to find a copy of her work.”

He smiled brightly. One of his front teeth was missing. “Yeah! She’s one of _Ati’s_ favorites too! He helped me learn some of the more complicated terms she liked to use!”

“Well, what do you like about her?”

He took a deep breath and started talking, and talking, and talking. You looked up at Kankri and he just kinds of nodded and smiled, accepting his son’s tirade. At one point the boy stopped to breathe and Kankri cut him off.

“Ju’ki, have you seen Baralma?”

“Um, yeah, she was taking a nap with her baby and I-“ His face went white. “I was supposed to be watching the soup.” He turned and ran into the room he came from.

“So yes,” Kankri said, smiling, “That’s my son. He needs to work on his perspective and delivery, I think, but his heart’s in the right place.”

“I could see him following in your footsteps someday.”

His smile falls a little. “Yes, for better or for worse.”

There was a slight creaking as a woman dressed in a carefully crafted black dress glided down the stairs. Her long black hair was carefully wrapped in thin green linen.

“Oh, I hope we didn’t wake you,” Kankri said.

“Nonsense. I was never good at sleeping while the baby sleeps. It’s not as though we won’t hear if she wakes up and starts crying. Besides, it’s likely time for me to relieve Hla-kri, give the boy a chance to go out and play. But we are ignoring our manners here.” She turned her gaze towards you and curtsied. “Hello, they call me Baralma. Though I suppose if it makes you more comfortable, Mrs. Maryam would also be acceptable.”

“It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Maryam,” you said, returning her curtsy. “My name is Katya Sunheart.”

“I had guessed as much, but it’s nice to get confirmation.” She gestured towards the room the boy ran into. “Why don’t you step into the kitchen with me? I can get you some cider, or perhaps some light wine.”

“That would be lovely, Thank you.”

All three of you made your way to the kitchen. Little Kankri stirred the pot as quickly as he could, trying to make up for lost time.

“Oh!” He said. “You’re back!”

“Indeed,” Mrs. Maryam said. “And I feel quite refreshed now. Why don’t you run along outside? Some of the other children will likely be finishing up their chores as well.”

His face lit up. “Of course! Thank you!”

“Be safe,” Kankri called off as his son started to leave.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Yes, _Ata.”_ And then he was gone.

You couldn’t help but wonder why Kankri seemed so concerned, but at the time you were far too afraid to ask.

It was a few months before you found out.

The day you met, you thought his comment about torches and pitchforks at his speeches was a joke. Then one week on the way to the square you saw three men standing around a figure collapsed on the ground. You recognized two of them as Stone-Fists. You’d always heard talk of them being thugs and ruffians, but this was the first time you’d seen anything of it. And they’d somehow pulled in one of your neighbors, Mr. Shatter-Shield, who you’d always thought was all talk and no action.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, stomping up to them.

“Just dealing with a pest problem,” Mr. Stone-Fist said.

You glanced down and realized it was Kankri down on the ground. Blood seeped from a large cut on his forehead. He tried to push himself up, but Stone-Fist kicked him back down.

“Katya, just get out of here,” Kankri said.  

“No,” you say. “I think they’re gonna back the fuck off instead.”

“Katya!” Shatter-Shield looked shocked. “I thought you were better than to use such language in front of gentlemen.”

“When you find some let me know,” you hissed. Then you turned your attention down to Kankri. “Come on, let’s get you back home.”

“What, you know where it lives?” Mr. Stone-Fist asked. “Are the rumors true, then? You a dust-fucker now?”

“It would seem so,” Shatter-Shied said. “And Ergan’s a dear friend of mine. Perhaps I ought to tell him…”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh, trust me, I’m sure he already knows. Just like your wife and I know you two pass Alfna around like a bottle of mead.”

Shatter-shield started stammering, whether to justify it or make a witty comeback you don’t know.

“I mean, we could always teach you a lesson some other way,” Stone-Fist said, cracking his knuckles.

“Karolf, your sons don’t need a father in jail,” Shatter-Shield said.

Stone-Fist paid him no mind. You got the sense that this was about to go wrong. You pulled a small bottle from your waist and held it up. Stone-Fist froze.

“You can hit me if you want. But if you do, I can’t control where this winds up.”

“What is it?” Stone-Fist demanded.

“One of the taverns around here was having a rat problem. One drop of this is enough to kill a full-grown skeever. I can only imagine what this much would do to a man.” You looked over to the other two. “Or even three.”

“It’s not worth it,” Shatter-Shield said. “It’ll catch up with both of them one day. Let’s go.”

He turned and walked away. The other two went with him. Stone-Fist glared at you harshly but then followed. Once they rounded the corner, your knees gave out and you collapsed with relief with a sigh of _“Thank Auriel.”_

“Katya?” Kankri asked. He’d managed to sit up and placed a hand gently on your back.

“I’m just glad they didn’t call me on that.” You opened the bottle and took a swig. The alcohol was a friendly, familiar burn on your tongue. “Want some vodka?”

He laughed. “Katya, I love you.”

The drink helped settle your nerves enough to collect yourself.

“Let’s get you home,” you said, pushing yourself up off the ground.

“Thank you,” He murmured.

You helped him get to his feet and sling one arm over your shoulders. It was lucky you were strong, because for such a small elf Kankri leaned on you really heavily. Once you got him back to the house, Mrs. Maryam jumped into action. She ushered the children into the other room and came back with bandages and bottles of salves. Together, the two of you did your best to patch him up. You watched with pride as some of the smaller bruises simply vanished when you dabbed at them with a rag soaked in one of your potions.

But still, it wasn’t like any of you were great mages, so there was only so much you could do. Then you just had to apply poultices, wrap him up, and pray. You and Mrs. Maryam helped get him upstairs into bed. His son was waiting for you, perched on a stool in the corner with that old battered philosophy book in his hands. He leapt off the stool and ran to Kankri.

 _“Ati!_ Are you okay?”

Kankri managed to give the boy a weak, but reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, ju’ki. You know Ms. Sunheart makes the best potions in town.”

“Kankri…” you said softly.

“What? It’s true. I’m starting to feel better already.” He pushed himself off of you and Mrs. Maryam and managed to carefully lower himself down onto the straw mattress, hissing ever-so-slightly as he did.

The younger Kankri shifted his weight between his feet uncomfortably. _“_ Ati, would you mind if I…?”

“Of course not.” He lifted one arm and his son dove into his embrace, burying his face in Kankri’s chest.

You decided to stay and took the boy’s spot on the stool. You sat and watched and waited until you heard soft snores coming from the mattress, and then you approached them, eyes glued to the floor to avoid any of the loose boards.

“I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t need to worry,” Kankri said softly, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Hla-kri sleeps like a stone.”

You gave him a short laugh for his effort and then sank to the ground beside him. He opened one eye and smiled at you. You took his hand in yours.

“By the nine, Kankri, why do you do this? Who cares what the rest of the city thinks of you? As long as a Stormcloak is Jarl, Windhelm is never going to let the elves be.”

“I know,” he says.

Then why do you have to go around picking these fights? You have your son, you have the Maryams and the Leijons-“

“And they’re the reason why.”

“Kankri, that makes no sense, wouldn’t they be happier if you just went with the flow? If you just-“

“If I just what, Katya?” He snapped. “If I gave up my language, my clothes, my gods, my history and tried to convince ever Dunmer in this damn hold to do the same?”

“It’s just words, Kankri. You don’t have to actually give that up. Just convince the Jarl’s men you have. And then you’ll be free, you’ll be safe.”

“And I’ll be teaching the next generation to be ashamed of who we are,” he said sharply. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Katya, I don’t expect you to understand. This is your home. No one tells you that you shouldn’t be here. Every tavern has a bard playing your people’s songs. Every city in Skyrim has shrines to your gods and tombs that can give you a good Nordic funeral. It’s been two hundred years since Red Mountain erupted. The crater is still smoking and no one knows if Morrowind will ever really recover. If the crops are choked with ask and more and more Dunmer leave, little enclaves like this might be all we have one day.”

“Exactly! So-“

“ _So,_ I’m going to do everything I can to stop my people from dying. And that includes the slow, painful process of breeding us to extinction. If I tell my people-“ He took a deep breath. “If I tell my _son_ that we have to become just like the Nords, that’s the same as saying there’s no hope for a future with our people in it. Without hope, everything shrivels and dies. Please, try to understand.”

 _Keep the flame alive, Katya,_ your mother had said. _It’s the light of hope our people have carried for centuries. It’s yours now. Don’t let it go out._

“Actually,” you said softly. “I think I do.” You stood, the heavy fabric of your nice dress dropping heavily as it shifted. “I’ve got something I need to attend to back home.”

“Will you be back?” he asked, the exact same nervous way he had your first night together.

You smiled weakly at him and for the first time told him the truth. “I hope so. I love you.”

“I love you too,” He replied. He sank back down into the mattress, cradling his child once more. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You closed the door gently behind you, gave a brief nod to Mrs. Maryam, and then took off into the night. If you couldn’t have a child to hold the torch, to try to redeem the Falmer, you’d just have to do it yourself.  

And you tried. Dear Auriel did you try. You could feel yourself starting to get ill as you prepared. Frostfall was not the best time to take martial arts back up, especially in your late thirties. But you didn’t have much time. If you wanted to stand a chance of surviving your first adventure at your age you needed all the help and practice you could get. Fuck, though, you were tired. Every day it was the best you could do to drag yourself back home and collapse into bed.

You were a hearty woman. You’d expected you’d be able to power through. But then you picked up a stomach bug that had you puking for four days straight. You couldn’t even keep down your potions of cure disease. Then on day five you fainted right in the middle of sparring practice.

It was just a momentary thing. You felt a little dizzy and weak right after you finished a round, and then next thing you knew you were on the floor with the quartermaster kneeling beside you.

“Ugh, sorry about that,” you murmured, pushing yourself up onto your knees. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Cruel-Sea I’ve already sent for the medic. Let’s just get you into the barracks, get you somewhere soft to lay down.”

You shake your head. “Probably just the flu. It’s that time of year.”

“Well, we’ll have him look you over anyway. Just make sure it’s not anything serious. And either way you ought rest up until you get better.”

You were fairly certain it would be a stupid fucking waste of everybody’s time, but were compelled not to say so. Instead you just waited patiently, meekly, like a good little girl, for whoever the fuck to come poke and prod you. The medic on staff was in about three minutes after you. She asked all the basic questions and then went to feeling you up. Fuck, what about medicine makes its practitioners’ hands so cold?

Eventually, she seemed satisfied and sat on a chair beside you. “Well, Mrs. Cruel-Sea I have good news for you.”

“Let me guess, it’s the flu and I should go home and rest.”

She frowned. “Well, no. Although you should likely get some rest and stop pushing yourself quite so hard. You’re pregnant.”

You just blinked at her. “I’m infertile.”

“Well that’s odd. You may want to consult a midwife in that case, just to be sure. But I’ve seen dozens of guardswomen with your same symptoms, and I can’t think of a case where they weren’t expecting.”

You stood up and pulled your dress back over your head. “I understand, but I- I hope you don’t feel offended if I want a second opinion.”

“Oh, not at all! I’m not particularly qualified to do much in this case anyway. I mostly treat injuries and common illnesses. Like I said, I’d try looking into a good midwife. Whether it’s for confirmation or advice, I’m sure they’d be quite helpful.”

“Right. Thank you.”  You throw your cloak on and march out of the building.

What an assumption. They needed to train their medics better. You spent fifteen long years putting up with your damn oaf of a husband, letting him touch you on the off chance you’d be able to get a daughter out of it. There was no way it would just happen now. You’d barely even turned to him for sex since you met Kankri and-

Shit. What if this whole time it wasn’t you? What if this whole time you’d been ready and able and your husband hadn’t been doing his part? You assumed that couldn’t be because of all the times you’d given abortions to the maids, but if he had shared all of them with Shatter-Shied…

You changed directions and rushed towards the gray quarter. It was the middle of the day, so you knew Kankri would be out, but Mrs. Maryam usually stayed to be with her daughter. You found her knitting in the front room.

“You have to help me,” you whispered.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, face serious and ready.

“A medic at the training grounds said I was pregnant. I need you to examine me and tell me if she’s right.”

She frowned slightly. “Wait, did you not already know? I know you’re no mage, but your magic shifted two weeks ago. I know it’s a very subtle drain at first, but I thought you would have noticed by now.”

“So it’s true…” You backed away from her and sank down in a nearby chair. “Fuck, Mrs. Maryam, what am I going to do?”

“My dear, you’re a master alchemist. You should know your own options.”

You scowled. “I didn’t fucking ask what I _could_ do.”

“Ah, I see.” She put a hand on your shoulder. “If you want, the child would always have a home here. Even if you decide you have to stay with your people, this wouldn’t be the first I’d taken in.”

“Thank you Mrs… Baralma.”

She smiles softly at you.

The door opened and Kankri came back in. He hung his heavy coat at the door and turned to face you.

“Katya? Why are you here?”

“I’m pregnant.”

He gapes at you for a moment. “I thought- I thought you couldn’t have children.”

“So did I,” you grumbled. “But here we are. Baralma says it’s true.”

“Okay. …Okay.” He came and sat next to you, taking your hand in his. “I’m with you. Whatever you decide, I’m with you and I know I can’t do much, but I’ll help however I can.”  

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I think… I might want to keep it. But Ergan won’t put up with that if he finds out it’s yours.”

“Are you sure it is?”

“I mean, either that or it’s a fucking miracle. We’ve been trying for over a decade.”

“Right.” he ran his fingers through his hair. “I still think you should stay with him as long as you can.”

“What? Why?”

“Katya, you know we wouldn’t turn you away. If it’s what you want you can stay here, but we’re broke. There are already three families crammed into this one house, and we still sometimes have issues scraping food and clothing together. I know you don’t like him, but Ergan can keep you fed in a house with much more even heating. He’ll take care of you both. And I wouldn’t want you to throw everything away before we know if it’ll even stick.”

You sighed. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

And so you went home. You kept Ergan in the dark for as long as you could. You cut down on training and most of your symptoms went away. Whenever you checked in with Baralma she would cheerfully say that both you and the baby seemed to be doing well.

The three month mark came and went and you decided you’d have to do something. You were starting to gain weight and Ergan would notice eventually. He’d already commented once on your increased appetite. And you wanted to tell him on your own terms, not be get cornered and be immediately suspect.

You sought him out one evening when he was relaxing in his study. He was busily sketching a poor rendering of a woman on the good parchment. You had to clear your throat to get his attention.

“Katya? You don’t come in here often.”

“I know. But I have news for you.”

He sighed and put his quill back in the inkwell. “Good or bad?”

“Good. Very good, in fact.” You smile at him warmly, trying to be as convincing as possible. “It’s finally happened. I’m with child.”

He beamed at you brightly and got out from his chair. “Katya, that’s wonderful!” He embraced you tightly, burying his face in your neck. “I always knew you could do it.” He took a step back and his face fell. “How far along are you?”

“Three and a half months by my guess.”

“I see.” He paused. “Early Hearthfire then. Was that before or after I set off on that business trip?”

“Before, of course.” You say.

He laughs darkly. “Perhaps it was, but don’t play me for a complete fool, Katya. I know you’ve been seeing that sootskin in the gray quarter.”

“Ergan!”

“I mean, as long as there was deniability I didn’t mind. After all, we do have our little quid pro quo where you were willing to help when Alfna went and got herself pregnant.”

“Herself,” you spit, “Of course.”

“But either way, it was taken care of. If this turns out to be a similar situation, I expect we’ll have a similar result.”

“Is that- Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not. I would never do that to my pregnant wife.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll do my part and be here for you, whether that be celebrating the birth of _our_ first child, or helping you get over your miscarriage.” Then he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek.

You wanted to shove him away, to snarl and tell him off, but he would have seen it as confirmation. You don’t know what he would have tried to do if he knew for certain the baby wasn’t his. And like Kankri said, what if you were wrong?  Instead you turned on your heel and stomped back to your own quarters.

He didn’t threaten you again. He didn’t have to. You understood the terms. The baby had to be a nord or it would be killed by whatever unscrupulous midwife he chose for you. You didn’t know what else to do, so you started praying again.

Your mother had a small shrine to Akatosh commissioned shortly after your wedding. You’d kept it in a back room for years, but the day you told your husband you dusted it off, knelt before it, and whispered to it using his old name in the old tongue. The Divines don’t intervene in the world of the living. You knew that. And yet you kept finding yourself there, day after day, asking him to do just that. First you just asked him for the child to look Nordic. Even if Kankri was its father, half-elves were always odd. You never knew exactly what you would get. They could seem entirely human, entirely elven, or somewhere in the middle. But somewhere along the way, you started asking for it to be a girl. You’d been hoping to break this cycle for years, but maybe your mother was right. Maybe this was bigger than you. Maybe this was just the part the gods wanted you to play. You would handle it. You were hearty, you were smart, you were adaptable, you could handle it. And you could teach her to do the same.

Then the actual day came. And when you got the first look at the baby you’d carried for nine long months, you were given a stark reminder of the fact that you had been right all along: the gods didn’t care. Your son came out looking just like his father, with grey skin and bright red eyes. The midwife took a step back from the birthing chair, taking him out of your reach. You were still connected, but what were you going to do, yank him back by the umbilical cord?

“No! Please!” You tried to push yourself up and failed. “Don’t kill him!”

“Shh,” the midwife said. She reached for a cloth, dipped it in the clean water she’d prepared. But instead of using it to smother the child she dabbed lightly at his skin, cleaning away the blood and fluid.

“What are you doing?” You breathed. “I thought…”

She smiled softly. “So did your husband. Now, normally when I declare a healthy baby dead, I take it to an orphanage, or sometimes to another client that had been struggling to have one of their own, but from what I understand you might have another destination in mind.”

“I… I want to go with him,” You said. “But I don’t think I can make it by myself.”

“Of course not. But there ain’t a midwife in the city that won’t jump when Baralma says, and ain’t a dunmer in the city that won’t jump when Kankri Vantas says. Now let’s smuggle you and that baby into the gray quarter.”

Downscasts or not, the Dunmer were better connected than you thought, and they moved quickly. You gave birth in the middle of the night and by dawn the boy who brought Aval Atheron his fresh meat had the cart at your house. Alfna kept your husband distracted and you managed to sneak down the stairs. You hid yourself in a barrel that stank like fish and did your best to keep the baby quiet. Not that you had much success, he had a hell of a voice for a newborn and was being incredibly fussy about everything. Getting him to nurse helped for a little while, but as soon as he decided he was done he started crying again and just kept going until he’d screamed himself out. Thankfully, no one seemed to pinpoint the source of the noise. To be fair, your baby probably wasn’t the only child being dragged around too early in the morning. But you just sat there tensely as you were jostled around until the cart finely came to a stop.

The delivery boy opened the barrel. Baralma reached in and took your son, and Kankri helped you to your feet and back onto solid ground. The four of you were inside the house within thirty seconds.

One of the straw mattresses had been placed next to the hearth. The linen sheets had a few old bloodstains, but they’d clearly been thoroughly cleaned. Baralma handed to baby to Kankri, who cradled him gently in his arms, cooing at him affectionately. Of course _now_ the stupid thing shut up.

While Baralma got you cleaned up again (you’d been warned there would be a lot of blood, but you weren’t quite prepared for there to be _that much)_ little Kankri came over, and watched his brother with interest.

“Would you like to hold him?” Kankri asked.

“Is… is that okay?”

“Yes, just watch his head.”

“I know, _Ati,_ I’ve only seen a hundred babies.” Then he turned his attention to your son. “Hi there. I guess he is kind of cute.”

The baby looked at him and started to scream its head off again.

“Did I offend him?” little Kankri shouted. “I didn’t think he would understand-“

“He doesn’t.” Baralma said, scooping the baby up. She patted it on the back and shushed it, but it was ineffective. “Sometimes, they just want their mothers.” She took the few steps to kneel down beside your mattress and hand him over.

He calmed down the moment he was back in your arms. You pulled him close to your chest in case he was hungry again, but instead he just nuzzled up against you and went to sleep. With him back in your arms you started to relax too. You leaned back against the wall, kissed your son on the temple. For the first time in his little life he was safe. You were both safe. And you were exhausted. Your last day had been six hours of reading and potions, twelve of labor, three on the boundary between worry and panic, one crammed in a barrel, and only two of brief, fitful sleep.

Once little Kankri was sure his brother was sleeping he uncurled himself and cautiously crawled over to get a better look again.

“What’s his name?” He whispered.

“Ergan wanted to name him Malngvor, after his father,” you say, sleepily. “If he was going to live as a Nord, maybe that would be okay, but…”

“Yes, if you want him to blend in around here you’ll probably want to pick a name with more vowels.” Kankri said, smirking.

“You know, that’s a good point. How do you name a second son?”

Kankri seemed taken aback, but corrected quickly and sat down on the mattress beside you. “Well, traditionally, we’d pick a name that reflects back on his mother. Something with a ‘kat’ in it, then.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I know enough Dunmer names.”

“What would it have been if Alma had another son after me?” younger Kankri asked.

“Well, that would have been about her, but this is about Katya.”

“No,” you said. “She’s the one that brought you here. We never would have met if not for her. What was her name?”

There’s a brief pause as he looked down at the child. “Karana.”

“Then how about Karkat? That is a name, right? I think I heard it somewhere before.”

“Are you sure?” Kankri asked.

You nodded.

“Well, Karkat it is, then.” He leaned over and kissed you gently on the temple. “Now, we should let you get some sleep."

“Mmm-hmm…”

 You shuffled down so you were laying flat on the mattress and fell asleep there with little Karkat spread out across your chest.

You stayed with the Vantases a long time. Probably longer than you should have. But it worked well. You didn’t have as much time for alchemy as you used to, but when you did Kankri agreed to sell the potions to Sadri and you turned enough of a profit that your little family could get out of that cramped building and into a small townhouse three blocks away. Little Kankri got his own room, you had a nice corner of the kitchen to practice alchemy, and you got to spend all the time you wanted with your son and your lover. You weren’t hiding in the slightest, but Ergan never found you. Maybe he just never looked. And for a while you were happy.

As much as Kankri had worried, Karkat stayed healthy and grew quickly. Soon you started to see his personality emerge. He was like you, almost too much like you, fussy and quick to anger but without the ability to hide it. He seemed bright and curious too, though Baralma insisted that exploring and putting everything in their mouths was just something babies did at that age, but you knew deep down your son was special. (Baralma also said that that was something every mother was insistent about too, but you chose to ignore that).  You wished you could have stayed, to watch him grow up, to teach him everything he needed to know, maybe even to pass on some of the lore that your mother had taught you. But you couldn’t. If you stayed, your burden would just pass on to him. He would have enough difficulties being a half-elf in this city. He didn’t need that problem too.

You stayed through Karkat’s first birthday. Before dawn the morning after, you gathered your things and wrote Kankri a note, explaining where you were going and why you had to leave. You knew you couldn’t do it face to face. You weren’t strong enough for that.

But before you could leave you heard high-pitched whining. Karkat was awake. And if you couldn’t face your lover, what chance did you have of saying goodbye to your son?

Still, you scooped him up in your arms and shushed him anyway. You knew it was dangerous, cuddling him one last time. Instinct made you want to stay, to hold him forever. He started rooting around your chest.

“Hungry, huh?” You unlaced the top of your shirt. “You know you’ve got teeth now. You don’t have to do this.”

You didn’t know how much he understood, but he made a little happy sound as he latched on and started drinking.

“I’m gonna miss you, little guy,” you murmured, gently stroking his hair. It was growing out messy and a little curly, just like his father’s. “I hope you know that I love you. So much. But your Ati’s rubbed off on me, I think. Makes me want to go and actually do the things I promised I would. I’m going to finish this myself so you don’t have to worry about it. I’m going to go out, and I’m going to redeem our ancestors, and then I’ll be back, okay? I want to see you grow up in a world where snow elves don’t have to hide anymore, where _we_ don’t have to hide.”

Karkat finished and looked up at you. He had his father’s eyes. Not just the color, but the shape was also characteristically Dunmer even if they were set into a wider, more human face. Doubt filled your heart. You were forty years old and you’d never left the city in your life. You needed to do this, but you didn’t know if you could. Just in case, you unclasped the amulet from your neck and pressed it into his tiny, chubby hand.

 _“_ Just… just in case something does happen to me out there, though,” You switch into the old tongue. “ _Keep the flame alive, Karkat. It’s the light of hope our people have carried for centuries. It’s yours now. Don’t let it go out.”_

You let go. He stared down at the amulet. For a moment you thought that maybe he somehow, magically understood what was going on. Then he grabbed it with his chubby hands, shoved it in his mouth, and started gnawing on the metal.

“Okay, let’s maybe let your dad give this back to you when you’re older,” you said, pulling the necklace away before he could choke on it.

There was a scraping noise and a chaurus about the size of a rat climbed through a hole in the floorboard. It scuttled around and then looked up at you and Karkat expectantly.

“Huh. I guess you’ve got some Sunheart magic in you after all,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.  

You put him back on his father’s chest and placed the amulet on the table next to your note. Then you scooped up the tiny chaurus and put it on your shoulder.

“Well then,” you said. “Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Char gives up trying to work around exposition  
> Alternate Alternate Title: Hey, John, maybe if you let people know when you were having a problem you'd stop having so many bad weeks.
> 
> I HOPE I can get this finished in one more chapter, but there might wind up being two more. Sorry for the radio silence for a while. Life is a bitch and, honestly, not getting much feedback on this kind of puts it on the back burner for me. So, please, if you want more, let me know.

“You’re my son,” the woman says, her eyes locked onto Karkat’s. 

You gasp excitedly and look over to your fiancé, waiting to see his reaction. Given how he reacted when he found her journals, you can only imagine how excited he must be to have the real woman alive and right in front of him. You know how excited you’d be if you got to meet your mom.

Karkat stares at her for a moment, then starts softly shaking his head.

“I know, it’s hard for me to believe too,” she says, smiling ever so slightly, “But after all this time-“

Karkat purses his lips for a moment, trying to hold something back. His lips twitch ever so slightly upwards, and then he bursts out laughing.

“Karkat?” You ask. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he says. He takes a few deep breaths and straightens back up. “I mean, I’m fine, but no. No, no, no. Fuck you.”

“Huh?” you say.

“No, not you, John.” He turns his gaze back onto his mother. “I spent almost my entire life wondering where you were, searching for you, and almost as soon as I say ‘fuck it I don’t need this’ I happen to find the little enclave in the ass-end of nowhere you happened to set up shop. So you’ve, what, made yourself queen of this fucking group of falmer? Is that what you’ve been doing this whole fucking time?”

The falmer growl and grasp their weapons.

“Karkat!” you hiss. “Maybe don’t say stuff to piss them off right now?”  

“Well maybe fuck you too!” He snarls.

The falmer pull back their spears, getting ready to strike. You try to ready some chaos magic. You get a little sputter, but nothing comes.

That… that’s never happened before.

But before you can start to panic, she says, “No, he’s got a point. Guards? Leave us.”

The falmer mutter amongst themselves but then turn and leave the building. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Thank the gods she doesn’t want to fight. As the door shuts, the woman starts walking towards you. She has a sad smile on her face, and her gaze remains locked on Karkat.

“I can’t say I blame you for being upset,” she says. “I get it. I left you for nearly twenty years. I tried to set you up as well as I could, but I know it wasn’t nearly what you deserved and it probably doesn’t really matter to you at this point, does it?”

“Shit, this doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” Karkat asks, just the edge of desperation starting to creep into his voice. “You don’t even care!”

She winces. “It’s not that. I just… Karkat, I know I probably wouldn’t forgive me either. At least, not right away. Not when you don’t understand why I had to leave.”

“I think I have a pretty decent idea,” he crosses his arms. “You said in your letter you were going to explore dwemer ruins trying to learn what you could about the falmer. And we found one of your journals in Blackreach. I know about the whole ‘restoring the snow elves’ shit.”

“You made it to Blackreach?” She asks excitedly. Then her face falls. “Gods, how long have you been travelling? How long have you been going through dwarven ruins?”

“Four years in Hearthfire,” he says.

“Fucking shit…” She runs her fingers through her hair. “Sixteen. Kankri let you leave at sixteen. And here I thought he would stick with Elven tradition and take care of you until you were thirty. Gods damn him, if I would have known-“

“No fucking way! You don’t get to talk shit about him.” Karkat stomps a little closer. “You have no goddamn right at this point to have any say in my life! And for your fucking information, it’s not like we had a choice!”

“That’s just something guilty people tell themselves to ease their consciences,” She hisses. “I’m sorry if no one bothered telling you that before.”

The two of them have identical snarls. It would be kind of endearing if you weren’t getting the feeling this was about to spiral out of control. And if she changes her mind about the guards… You elbow your way in front of Karkat, making him back off.

“I know this is kind of a big deal,” you say, “But maybe you should try to keep calm and give each other a chance to explain? Try to get to know each other or something?”

Karkat huffs, “As long as she doesn’t say any shit about Ati.”

She draws back slightly. It’s a physical movement, but you also get the sense that she’s emotionally pulling herself back, putting on the kind of calm controlled front you’re all too used to. When she turns to you she gives you the kind of calm look with enough poison behind it to melt steel.

“Right,” she says. “That’s fair enough. But I don’t believe we’ve met. Who are you, exactly?”

“Oh! Right.” You put on your best pleasantries to match. “I’m John. John Egbert.”

“Egbert?” Her eyebrow quirks upward. “Nice to know you’re not just any random mercenary at least.”

“Damn right he’s not,” Karkat growls. “He’s my fucking fiancé.”

It’s been two months, but your heart always skips a beat when you hear him say the word. Maybe some of Karkat’s romantic streak is rubbing off on you. The woman balks.

“You can’t be serious,” She says.

He pulls the chain with your ring on it all the way over his head and hands it to her. “Look serious to you?”

“By the nine…” She whispers, turning it over in her hand. “You’re right. We should go and talk. Follow me, I have a parlor over this way.” She floats off to your left, still dazed.

“Um, you giving that back?” Karkat demands, stamping off after her.

By the time it processes, she’s already at the doorway. “Oh, yes. If that’s what you’ve chosen to wear these days, you should keep it.”

“As opposed to?” You ask.

She chuckles darkly, but hands the ring back to her son. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you sold the amulet a long time ago.”

You watch Karkat’s eyes flick down as he takes the time to think about what to say next. Then he admits, “I didn’t. Fuck, it’s not like a person is physically incapable of wearing two necklaces at once.”

She smiles softly. “Well, that’s something. Now come in. Have a seat, both of you.”

When you enter, you find yourself in a small sitting room. There’s a table with two chairs pressed against one wall, and a fire burns in the hearth across from it. Karkat’s mother settles herself in a rocking chair near the fire. You and Karkat grab the ones at the table and sit down nearby. Oh, and _chairs._ Sitting is good, sitting is very good. You didn’t notice how sore your legs were until they didn’t have to hold you up anymore. Oh, you might never move again.

“Right,” She says, snapping you out of your moment of bliss. “I never introduced myself to you properly, Sir Egbert. My name is Katya Sunheart. I suppose I don’t have the status to tell you what to call me.”

“I, uh, don’t care that much about rank stuff,” you say. “Just John is fine.”

She chuckles. “Clearly. Of course, I suppose that has been your family’s stance for quite a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Karkat hisses.

“Well,” she pauses for a moment, clearly to choose her words carefully. “Among the gentry there was always... pressure to attempt to marry upwards. Either into a richer family or, if possible, into nobility. In most cases the latter was simple enough. When one’s wealth is in land, gold can at times be in short supply, so approach with a sizable enough dowry and a title can effectively be bought in most cases.”

“Is that true?” Karkat asks you.

“Mm-hmm,” you say, “It’s super common.”

“Except among his family,” Katya says. “The rules for the Egberts were, or I suppose are, different, correct?”

“I know,” Karkat snarls. “We’ve talked about it already. Now are you gonna explain to me how the fuck you got here?”

“I mean, I could ask you the same thing.” She smiles. “But I won’t. At least not yet. You know the start, I suppose if you found my journal, how I started small until I found myself down there?”

You both nod.

“Well, down there I found a tribe of falmer living under the artificial sun. They weren’t that different from the falmer you’d find in most places, but they were just so densely packed together. Most of the tribes aren’t capable of maintaining populations anywhere near that high. I spent about a year and a half watching them, learning about their way of life. Eventually I started coming closer, and after a while they took to me. They were more clever than I thought, and over time with my help they seemed to put together a more complex society, but they were still… It was like something missing from them. They couldn’t seem to understand on a fundamental level what it meant to be a person.”

“Complex isn’t always good,” Karkat says. “Did you know they keep slaves now?”

She frowns. “No… Do they really?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I saw it myself.”

She sighs. “Such a shame. To be honest I was afraid something like that would happen. Of course, those criminals knew the risks when I agreed to break them out of prison.”

That startles you back into full alertness. “Wait, that was you?” You demand. “Why?”

“There is no advancement without risk,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I thought that if I brought people down for them to observe, the falmer would mimic them and learn something. When I left, it almost seemed to be working. The humans learned how to cultivate mushrooms and the falmer were starting to pick up basic music, more complex games. But they never quite got language, and it still felt like there was some spark missing. I left to see if I could fix that but… It seems things went wrong while I wasn’t there.” She looks down and furrows her brow. “If I weren’t so old now I’d go back, try to sort things out. But I can’t leave these falmer and make that same mistake twice. Of course, you don’t want a list of my regrets.” Her lips twitch into a smile for a moment. “And even if you did we’d be sitting here until you were my age before I finished.”

“Yeah, and you still haven’t told us what you’re actually doing here,” Karkat points out.

“One day I stumbled upon a book that mentioned a falmer monastery that had survived the war with the Nords. I thought maybe if I found that, I could find some of their writings, perhaps fill in some of the missing pieces of the story. It took me two years to find this place. There wasn’t much in terms of manuscripts, but I found something even better in the caves nearby: almost a thousand falmer, managing to live together peacefully in one place. And they had a _language._ A horrid, guttural language, but a language nonetheless. And I figured it out eventually. Still couldn’t speak it, but I could understand what they were saying.”

“And somehow you taught them to talk?” Karkat asks. You can see a bit of curiosity starting to sneak in.

“Not right away. They still couldn’t make the sounds, but they learned to understand me too. Eventually they were willing to show me some of their relics that they used to illustrate their stories. And in that pile of relics were a dwarven book and a green glass vial.”

“What was in it?” Karkat asks, obviously trying to appear not as hooked as he is.

“The poison that blinded the falmer. And the recipe to make it. Apparently these falmers’ ancestors didn’t take the whole dose, and that was why they still had some sense. The book was hard to read, and some of the ingredients were listed by names I’d never heard of. It took me the better part of a year to remake the potion, and then two full years to create an antidote. But when I did, well, you’ve seen the effect it has, even on the adults. It took a few treatments, but their vision returned, they learned how to speak properly. And the young ones! They stand taller, learn more quickly, speak more clearly. Of course, the eldest of them are teenagers now. Their mothers would have likely kept them back when you were coming through earlier. But, oh, you should see them…” Her voice goes wistful at the end.

“You expect me to believe you completely reverse engineered an antidote just using half a recipe and some ancient residue?” Karkat demands. 

“I did.”

“How?”  

She smiles softly. Her voice is soft and melodic as she starts describing the layers of effects of the potion. You kind of try to listen for a while, but you start to drift off. You think you’re vaguely aware of where you are and that there’s talking, but your mind also starts to wander off with weird tangents of not-quite reality you can’t follow. Then there’s a hand on your shoulder and you startle.

“Shit,” Karkat says, “You’re really that out of it, huh?”

“Yeah, um, we should probably get to sleep. Or at least I should. It’s been a long day. Lots of magic and stuff. Um…”  

“Well, you’re free to stay here, of course.” Katya says. She stands. “I’m afraid I don’t have a proper guest room, but if you’d like you’re free to curl up by the hearth here. We’ll be having dinner soon. I’ve got a servant girl who makes great stuffed mushrooms.”

“No,” you say. Karkat looks at you. “I just… I feel like the odds of faceplanting into my plate would be too good, you know?” You force a smile. Karkat isn’t buying it.

Thankfully, he doesn’t try to call you out either. “Well, if you’re sure,” he says.  

“The kitchen is in the back of the hall,” Katya says. “We’ll leave some things out for you.”

“Yeah,” you say, “That would be great.”

Karkat spreads your bedroll out for you. He gives you a kiss on the way out. You get up. You take two steps. You collapse into the welcoming hay without taking off your clothes.

* * *

For the second day in a row, you wake up before John. You don’t complain. John is always beautiful, but when he’s awake he’s usually either buzzing with energy or something is very wrong, and either way you don’t get the chance to creepily stare and appreciate him like you do when he’s asleep. He snuffles a tiny bit, and you let yourself find it adorable.

“What, do you have a cold or something?” you murmur, “Because you know I can fix that.”

“Oh! You’re awake! Or, er, good morning.”

You whip your head around and find Katya sitting in the rocking chair right next to you with a piece of embroidery in hand.

You squawk and pull your bedroll up to your chin. “What? Were you watching us?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course, there must be quite a sinister motive for a woman to sit in her own parlor. She couldn’t possibly just want to be in the only really comfortable chair in the whole house.”

“Okay, fine,” you growl. “But you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

She laughs. “Oh by the nine, you remind me of myself so much. Not sure how you got that, but sorry.”

“Ugh. If you want to talk, can you, like, close your eyes or turn around for a second? I’d like to get dressed.”

“My dear, it’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Yeah, well a couple things have changed since I was a fucking infant!”

“Of course. In sixty years of life I’ve never seen a grown man before either. Or elf for that matter.”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Your voice gets embarrassingly pitchy, much to your disdain.

She snorts with amusement. “Okay, fine.” She covers her eyes like you were a child who wanted to play hide and seek. You never knew that particular gesture could be so patronizing.

But it’s better than the alternative, so you hurry out of the bedroll and throw your clothes on. You consider telling her it’s okay as soon as your decent, but then decide, no, she’s going to wait until absolutely everything is in place. Even if the additional layers don’t cover anything else, they make you feel more confident. She catches on when you pick up your belt.

“Really now?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She sighs. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh. Also we’re fine. You can look now.”

She sighs. “Like I said, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You ignore her and take a chair from the table, bringing it over so you can sit across from her and, hopefully subtly, between her and John.

“Karkat, I’m not going to bite your boyfriend.”

“Fiancé,” you correct.

“Right. Sorry,” and for a moment she does actually look it. “Honestly, I’m glad you’re awake. Karkat, I’ve thought a long time about what I’d say to you if you made it here, if you found me like this. But I’d always pictured it as just you.” She chuckles. “I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed, but... you took me off guard yesterday. And there are some things that I neglected to tell you.”

“Such as?”

She reaches under her chair and pulls out a roughly-made book, bound in slices of chaurus chitin. She opens it to about half-way through and then hands it to you. “Here,” she says. “Read this page.”

To your surprise, it’s written in modern cyrodiilic.

“We know now that we can never again be the Snow Elves and live freely in this world,” it starts. “We will forever be in hiding in one form or another. But there is no reason we cannot live life with the sun and the wind against our skin. There are those here who are friends to us and plan to help us once the threat has ended. We know now to survive we must be born anew. Outside, we will appear as though we belong here. Inside, we will carry our truth and our scars.”

“Okay,” you say. “What exactly is that supposed to mean? What even is this book?”

“When I came here, when I found these people who were receptive to my ideas, I thought I should write some things down.”

“Wait, you wrote this?” You pull the book closer to your face, trying to match the handwriting to the journal you found.

“Well, I put it on paper, but I didn’t create it. We Sunheart women have- or had, I suppose, a strong oral tradition. We had multiple generations – mothers and sisters and grandmothers keeping this story and ones like it pure for millennia. Stories that were too precious to die but too dangerous to write down.”

“But if this is all about the snow elves going into hiding, that means...” You look up at her. “Are you trying to tell me we’re fucking falmer?”

“Well, yes, but not like the ones you’re picturing. Much more like Gelebor, or the ghosts you doubtlessly met on the way here. We come from a line that never went underground, that was never poisoned and blinded by the dwarves. If you read the whole thing, you’ll find that our ancestors came upon a tribe of Nords near the coast whose population had just been ravaged by disease. They needed more people, so the Nords offered them sanctuary if they agreed to join the tribe. And they did. They even adapted. And people have always been people, so with enough close contact some of them fell in love, got married, had children. Not always all of those and not always in that order, but often enough that after a few generations there was really no division between elf and human. But even if most things changed, Show Elf women have always been keepers of stories and knowledge. So every girl with an elven mother learned the stories.”

“But then shouldn’t everyone know about this?” you ask.

Katya shook her head. “No. Because over time, most of the lines died out, or only had boys for one generation, or chose to abandon the tradition. As far as I know, I’m the last woman of the very last Snow Elf line.”

“So what? I don’t count?”

“I said woman for a reason, Karkat. There’s a prophesy buried in that book somewhere. And it always talked about the last daughter of the Snow Elves being the one to begin the restoration, if it is ever to begin. But, that’s not to say you aren’t important to all this. I used to think that. That’s why I left, why I gave you as little information as I did. Karkat, I used to think that I would be doing everything myself, that I’d be on my own trying to save the people of an uncaring god. But now I get it.” She reaches out and takes your hand. Curiosity makes you to let her. “I used to say it was random chance, but now I think it’s providence. There’s no way to do something this big alone. So the gods had me take that wrong turn that led me to your father. They made you look like a Dunmer so I would have to leave my husband and stay with Kankri. They made you a boy so I would have to leave to start all of this, and now they’ve brought you back to me so you can help me finish this. Karkat, this is what you were born to do.”

She says it with such assertiveness, such confidence that you flounder to figure out how to respond.

“But I promised John I would-“

“Not yet you haven’t. And think about it Karkat, I understand why it’s seems appealing. He’s certainly quite charismatic. But think about it for a moment, really critically think about what the rest of your life is going to be. You’re going to have to learn to suppress your real thoughts, your real feelings to get along with the other families, and for what? Sure you’re in love now, but for government to work you need a line of succession, which means at some point he’ll have to take a consort. And even if he doesn’t like her she’ll be getting more attention for the sake of that line, while you’re stuck actually taking care of his children. And even if that’s not so bad, what happens when he dies? A human has eighty years if they’re _really_ lucky. Half elves average almost twice that. You need something that gives you purpose, Karkat. If you stay here, you can-“

“Shut up!” You snarl, getting to your feet. “I’m not allowed to take relationship advice from a woman who pushed away or ran from everyone she ever cared about.”

“Where are you going?” She demands.

“I promised Gelebor I was going to go to the inner sanctum, since you never bothered apparently. There’s supposed to be a wayshrine around here, right? I’m going out to find it.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder and leave. You make sure to slam the door on the way out.

* * *

It’s a beautiful night, as you stare out over the snow-covered valley. The moons are both big and full and bright, so you can see almost as clearly as if it were day. The sky above is completely clear now, but the snow is completely undisturbed. you don’t see as much as rabbit tracks. Between your breaths there’s silence. There’s not even the slightest breeze. You could feel it if it was there.

It’s not right. Not natural. At first you think that sense of unease is the familiar feeling that you’re being watched. But then no, that’s not it. You’re alone. Completely alone.

Right until you’re not. It’s almost a relief when the hand lands heavily on your shoulder. But almost is the operative word. You spin around and summon your hammer. Pain shoots down your arm and you let go, wincing hard. The half-formed weapon disappears back into the ether.

“Will you stop that?” Miraak demands, shouting over the howling wind. “That kind of behavior is what got us into this mess in the first place.”

When you open your eyes again you’re standing in your castle. Thunder crashes nearby. 

“Just doing that shouldn’t hurt,” you say.

“No it shouldn’t,” he agrees. “But you also shouldn’t be prodding at a large soul wound, so here we are.”

You swear and look behind you. There’ve been a few holes in the walls since you got back from Sovngarde. They started almost large enough for you to walk through, and after taking a month off they’d shrunk to the size of platters. Now the one in this room is the size of a horse.

“This is the worst by far,” he says, “But they’re all growing.”

“How did this happen?” You ask.

“The shouts mostly,” Miraak says. “Oddly enough, when one’s soul is fragile it’s generally a bad idea to channel a dragon through it. I know the first one was a truly life-threatening situation, but that second crossing? Honestly if you find existence that unbearable you really ought to talk to someone before trying to tear us both apart. Aside from yourself, I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You ignore him and close your eyes to focus on the ever-changing geometry of the castle. It feels like Miraak has been moving a couple things around. You think he might have assembled a little wing for himself out of closets and store rooms. Well, as far as you’re concerned he’s welcome to it. He’s conscious of this place more than you are. Besides, it could be useful. You shift and rotate the rooms.

“Really, John?”

When you open your eyes again, you see a room beyond the opening covered in green fabric. 

“If you’re that worried about this, now you can keep an eye on it,” you snap.

His eyes glaze over for a moment and then he sighs. “That… that’s a combination of emotions you don’t get often.”

“I’m tired,” you say.

“Yes, that’s certainly part of it.” He gives you a rare smile. Concern. Pity. He knows you know and cuts it off with a “Why don’t you go back to your dream? You could use the rest.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that. Goodnight.”

You pull your consciousness away before he gets the chance to respond.

Next thing you know, Karkat is shouting in the real world and you wake up.

“Yeah, well a couple things have changed since I was a fucking infant!” You smile but don’t move. Gosh it’s cute when he gets worked up.

“Of course. In sixty years of life I’ve never seen a grown man before either. Or elf for that matter.” Wow, even though Katya sounds completely different, that tone is identical.

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Karkat screeches.

You debate getting up, but your body feels heavy. You’re a lot better than you were last night, but lying down a little bit more couldn’t hurt. And besides, you figure you should probably give them time to get to know each other. And then you can get a little more sleep.

Except you don’t. You don’t fall asleep, and you don’t fall asleep, and eventually you feel like you should announce the fact that you’re awake but then you’d have to admit to eavesdropping. As the conversation gets more and more serious, that feels like a worse and worse decision.

After Karkat leaves his mother sighs deeply. “I suppose you’d like me to go too.”

You startle a little.

“Yes, I know you’re awake. I knew you were awake and I still…”

She sighs again. “Yeah. I… I’ll just go.” You hear a creak as she gets up out of her chair. The door opens and closes gently this time.

You push yourself up, in spite of your arms’ protests. And then your legs’. You haven’t felt like this since the last time a really bad flu went around town. Still, you go over to your stuff and start getting ready.

 _You’re going after him, aren’t you?_ Miraak asks.

_I have to._

_He always comes back. You know that._

_But what if this time he doesn’t?_ You ask.

_Ah, I see, you’re worried she’s right._

You don’t address him directly so that he doesn’t get the satisfaction.

_John, don’t be foolish._

_You can think it’s dumb,_ you think, pulling some of the unnecessary junk out of your bag. _But it’s important. I’m doing this._

 _No, you’re_ not!

Your head throbs and your hands start shaking. Your stomach churns and the world spins. You fall down onto your knees. Gods, you haven’t felt like this since you were in Apocrypha. Since the last time Miraak tried to take control.

 _Stop it!_ You demand. _You know you can’t win._

 _No,_ he admits. _But I can at least do this._

Your eyes close and, with no one to take full control, your body collapses.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I counted wrong because this wanted to take up a little more space. There'll be one more chapter.
> 
> Also, sorry if this is a little messier than usual, I did some big edits today, but I wanted to get it posted before the weekend is over.

The last wayshrine is only about two minutes from Katya’s house. The ghost says his line, summons the ball of light, and opens the final shrine for you. 

You take a step inside and plunge your pitcher into the water. You have no idea how much water from the first couple wayshrines is still in it, but you don't know if it even really matters. But there’s certainly plenty of water still in it now if the weight is anything to go by.

Shit, that didn't take as long as you'd hoped. 

Well, might as well keep going, you guess. 

You can see the inner sanctum not far away. It’s gorgeous, big and alabaster and gleaming in the sunlight. A few falmer, perched up upon the last couple guard towers, watch you with mild interest as you pass. But you pay them no mind. You’ve got better things to worry about.

The temple, after all, is breathtaking. It’s bigger than Dragonsreach, probably bigger than the Palace of the Kings, though it’s hard to be sure from this distance. Spires and pointed arches reach up to the sky, all of them in perfect condition despite their centuries of neglect. You give yourself a few moments to take it all in but then move on. You have to keep going or you might find yourself turning back. 

A large bridge spans the gap between you and the temple. Again there’s no snow, no signs of wear. Just smooth, clean stone carved with neat, slightly-curved lines. A thirty-foot statue of an elf greets you from the far side. He holds the sun up above his head and wears a grand, spiked crown. But for all the majesty the sculpture is supposed to convey, it just feels… dead. The elf’s eyes stare blankly into the distance, his face completely neutral. Large icicles hang off of his face and hands. And now that you’re closer you can see the temple itself is in worse shape than you thought. Huge chunks of the alabaster visage have broken off near the base, letting you see through to the plain grey stone beneath.

Maybe if you’re lucky, you think, there’ll be a crevasse you can sneak through somewhere if the door doesn’t open.

Two symmetrical stairways lead up behind the statue. You take the one on your left, climbing step after step. When you reach the top you see a basin. There’s a hole in the base of it, and you can see that it leads down to a trough in the floor, which-

Oh wow, that’s totally a penis. You’d been getting the impression that the snow elves had always had strict gender roles and that this order was kind of a boys’ club, but _wow._ John would laugh his ass off if he was here. And you’d get all indignant about it and try to hide how infectious his amusement is, even if it _is_ completely juvenile.

But he’s not here. It’s just you.

You hold the pitcher out over the basin. If you pour it out, the door should open. But then what? You’d go through. You’d explore. You’d finish up. Probably fight the guy in there and take a bunch of whatever treasure he’s guarding. You could do all that.

But it wouldn’t mean a damn thing.

“Fuck, I’m an idiot,” you say to yourself.

You pull the pitcher back close to your chest, turn around, and take off towards Katya’s house at a run.

* * *

Your senses are completely gone. You can’t see, can’t hear, can’t smell, can’t _feel._ You don’t know where you are, or if you’re even anywhere. But you’re aware of every second of it. You’re closer to a column of sentient smoke than anything else, but at least with smoke there’s a sense of motion. It goes up and flows with the wind and dissipates, but you’re… You’re not sure what you are anymore.

What did Miraak do to you? You’ve gone through a lot of planes – Nirn, Oblivion, Aetherius – but this… nothing like this has ever happened before, and it terrifies you.

But at least fear feels like something. It’s cold, makes you shrink back. You grasp at it desperately. You picture what that would look like, a column of smoke contracting, and try to live it, to press whatever is left of you into that shape. It feels the same way rearranging your castle does.

Before you can fully process what to do with that information, you realize you’re not alone. Miraak wraps around you, pushing you back into the less solid semi-form you held before.  

 _What are you doing?!_ You demand.

_I told you, stopping you from destroying us both._

You try to compact yourself further, slip through him and to freedom, but he’s too quick. _Come on! I just wanted to leave this damn house!_

_You need to rest!_

_What, and this is supposed to help?_

_If you’re in here, you’re not out there,_ he points out.

You growl and push against him as hard as you can. You’re stronger than him, you know you are.

He laughs softly. _Not like this._

And he’s right. As much as you struggle, as hard as you push, he won’t budge.

 _How?_ You demand

_It helps to not have spent the last few months effectively bleeding out._

But you don’t give up. You keep pushing and pushing, hoping to tire him out. You try not to think, not to interact with him. If he wants to fight you, you’re not going to be all buddy-buddy with him. You can tell he’s getting tired, but the problem is so are you. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to outlast him.

Then you feel another presence. You’d say that it reaches out to you, but it’s more like the connection was always there, and you just didn’t notice before. But now you feel it. Oh, Gods do you feel it. It’s like a fire. Not the wild, all-consuming type, but the kind you would drag furs over to so you could curl up and sleep beside when you were a little boy. The feeling has never been this clear, but you recognize Karkat in an instant.

A wave of relief washes over Miraak and he untangles himself from you. Your own essence shifts, moving back into a familiar shape.

The first thing you get back is hearing. Karkat calls your name, and you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. Then you realize how much you hurt. Your left arm is twisted at a weird angle, pressed down by your chest. Your thumb presses awkwardly into your sternum but your hand is numb. Your entire being aches, and you open your eyes and groan.

“Shit, John, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Not really,” you say. You manage to sit up and then start opening and closing your hand, trying to get feeling back into it.

“What’s going on?”

You should tell him. You know you should tell him. But you hesitate. Miraak hits you with a jab of disapproval.

 _I’m trying to figure out how to word this!_ You think.

He backs off, but you can tell he’s watching you.

“John, what is it?” Karkat demands, “Are you hurt?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you admit.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“So um…” You have to look away from his probing eyes. “You remember that part where I was kind of dying in Sovngarde and then Tiber Septim had to yell at me to keep my soul tucked away?”

“You _didn’t…”_ He says.

“I haven’t done anything major!” you protest. “Honestly, I’ve been trying really hard to take it easy and stuff! But… you know how magic works, right?”

He blinks. “Don’t you just… have magic? And then you spend it?”

“Well yeah, but then it comes back! And it’s got to come back through a mental or spiritual connection to another plane, and you know I’m stuck with the second one.

You can see the gears turning in his head for a minute, but then he slowly says, “John…”

“Yeah?”

He takes a deep breath. “Are you trying to tell me that every time, _every fucking time_ you have been using magic for the past two months, you’ve been doing the exact opposite of what a magic healing god and literal miracle worker told you to do.” His voice is flat, calm. This is going to be bad.

“Maybe?” You admit.

“Gods-! Fucking-!” And there he goes. He stands and dramatically grabs fistfuls of his hair. “Ughhhh John Egbert how _the fuck_ could you do this? That is the single dumbest thing you could have done! What made you think that it would _possibly_ be a good idea to-“

“Would you rather we were dead!?” You snap. “I’ve been saving our lives!”

“Yeah, by killing yourself! What the fuck?!” He groans. “How long have you known it was hurting you?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on it! It was getting better!”

He sighs. “The whole time. This has been going on the whole fucking time. Fuck. John I-” He sobs. “Gods dammit, why didn’t you tell me?”

“No, shhh. Don’t cry!” You try to pull him close, but he pushes you back to arm’s length.

“John...” He says, testily.

You have to break eye contact. “Fuck! Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re… like you’re disappointed in me.”

When you glance back up the look of disappointment has only intensified. “I thought we were over this. I really did.”

He might as well have slid his sickles right between your ribs. “Karkat… It’s not that I don’t trust you. Really, I swear it’s not.”

“Sure.” And with that he tears them right out.

“I was doing this for you,” you protest.

“You could have said no!” He fires back.

“Not with the look you had on your face!”

He blinks. “What?”

“Do you remember the day we finished packing?” You ask, letting your voice go soft. “You looked so scared, so lost. I knew you weren’t ready to leave, that there was something else you needed to do. And then when you read that note from Rose your face lit up like a wreath on New Life.”

Karkat just stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“I couldn’t take that from you. I just couldn’t.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then again, more loudly this time, he says “Fuck!”

“Don’t ask me to apologize for it, because I-”

‘No! It’s not that!” He gets up and kicks a stool, that then bounces across the floor. “This is all my fault! Fuck it, it’s all my fault!”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. “No it’s not!” You get to your feet. It’s actually easier than you would have thought. “If anything, blame Rose! She sent the letter.”

“But I asked her to.”

“Huh?”

“I- Shit, John, you’re right. I know we wrapped up all the little quests last month, but I wasn’t ready to go. I still don’t know if I’m ready. And I was scared but I didn’t want to make it feel like I was rejecting you, so I wrote to Rose. I asked her if there was anything, anything at all she could think of that we had to do, any ruins or cults or anything that needed clearing out. It was stupid! I was stupid! I know that! But I was…” A few tears leak from his eyes. “I _am_ scared… So scared of fucking up.”

“Fucking what up?” You ask.

“You! Your life! Your town! I know you think I can do this, but what if I can’t? What if I can’t manage anything more complicated than a two-bedroom house in a small city? Because I know that’s what I have to do if I want to keep you, but what if I can’t?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re enough.”

His voice cracks as he yells back at you. “Bullshit! You don’t know that. You _can’t_ know that because we’ve never tried!” He shakes his head. “John, I know you. You would throw yourself under a manure carriage for anyone who asked nicely. And for, what, three hundred something people you feel like it’s your duty to protect and care for I’m willing to bet you could delude yourself into either thinking you’re not sacrificing my happiness too by cutting me off or convincing yourself that it’s worth it.”

You growl. “Fucking Oblivion, Karkat, why are you so convinced you’re going to fail?”

“Why are you so convinced I won’t?” He snarls at you, but the tears flow freely now.

“Karkat, are you… are you breaking up with me?”

He takes a deep breath and you brace yourself. Then he says, “No. No I’m not.” He sinks down into his mother’s rocking chair. “I’m just scared. I wanted to put off going with you because I’m scared of fucking up, I’m scared of losing you, but it looks like we’re screwed either way because I almost killed you.”

“You didn’t almost kill me,” you say. “I’m not about to keel over. It’ll just take a while longer to heal. I think.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Fucking Azura, we’re both such stupid assholes, aren’t we?”

You laugh and pick up the stool to sit down next to him. “Yeah, yeah we are.”

For a moment there’s nothing but the crackle of the fire. You stare down at your feet, across the room, just loving the feeling of having him back at your side. You wish it could be that simple, but you know better.

You’re almost scared to ask, but you feel like you have to. “Hey Karkat?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I was awake for some of the stuff your mom said this morning. And I hate to ask, but-“

He smiles at you. “Come on, really? I never even considered staying here.”

“Really?”

“John,” he squeezes your hand. “I have literally followed you to Oblivion and back. Multiple times.”

“Are you really okay with giving this up? You heard your mom, this is what you were born to do.”

He laughs. “John, make no fucking mistake: you might have been born for a particular purpose, but not all of us are.”

“Karkat! Don’t say that kind of stuff! Look at everything you’ve done!”

“John, I don’t mean it like that. Look, you were born because your father needed an heir, because someone needs to be lord after he’s gone. I was born because a couple of strangers decided to have an affair without using protection.”

You snort.

“Besides, even if it’s true that I was born to do this, I had no say in that. But I decided I’d die for you, or even to just stay with you a little longer, a long time ago. I feel like that’s more important.”

The way he says it is so blasé, so natural. It clearly just kind of comes out and it’s not until you have to blink away your own tears that it actually clicks in his brain.

“Shit, I should have said that line way more dramatically,” He says.

“He he, just come here, you…”

You try to pull him into your lap and he lets you. You’re an awkward tangle of limbs until he arranges himself to give you access to his neck and lips. But you’re mostly interested in holding him close. He’s warm and solid and oh so familiar.

And even back in your body, when you think about it you can still feel the way his soul reaches out to you, holds onto you.

“Mmm, I’m glad you came back,” you murmur against his lips. “Because I think you’re stuck with me now.”

“Hmm?”

You tug gently on your bond and Karkat startles.

“John, what the fuck was that?!”

You giggle. “We’ve got a soul bond! Just a little tiny baby one, but it’s there!”

He gapes at you. “How did we-? I- Holy shit.”

You smile even more and snuzzle him again.

He runs his fingers through your hair. “Oh, John…”

“Where did you head off to?” you ask, pulling back and changing the subject.

“I went to the inner sanctum,” he says.

You gasp. “So cool! What did you find?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t go in. Couldn’t do it without you.”

“Oh…” You take a deep breath. “Karkat, I don’t know if I’ll be able to-“

“Don’t,” he says, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Don’t even start. We can stay as long as you need.”

“Do you think your mom will mind?” You ask.

He lets out a barking laugh. “I mean, she wanted me to stay forever. She can deal with us for a few weeks.”

You kiss him long and hard. When you pull back you say, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“Love you too, you big idiot.”

He climbs off of you and offers a hand. You take it and he pulls you to your feet.

“Alright,” he says, “Let’s go tell Katya she’s gonna have guests for a little while longer.”

* * *

Your mother takes the news surprisingly well. You’d guess she’s probably a little sad you’re still planning to leave, but she seemed pleasant enough when you asked to stay. It’s so hard to get a read on her. You spend the rest of the day gathering up some extra furs and blankets to make something resembling a bed for the two of you. It might be a little thrown together, but it’s comfortable enough, and you fall asleep in John’s arms.

The next morning you’re alone. You’re alone and in a real bed. Well that’s weird. You stand and look around. Even though you were just asleep you seem to be wearing heavy trousers and a thick, warm shirt made of something like wool. Both of them hang loose and straight down, neither garment tailored or wrapped close. But it’s not uncomfortable, almost like walking around in just your shift.

You seem to be in a small cottage. The walls are plastered white and have only sparse decoration. There’s a decent amount of furniture, though: a small wardrobe, side table, chair, and a large bookcase beside the threshold. Through the open door you see a large kitchen and living room in a similar, practical style. You approach the shelf and look over the books. Instead of normal titles you get a mix of familiar names, places, a few dates and some short phrases. As you look at some of the books on the lower shelves they vanish, only to reappear higher up. It makes your head spin so you look away and try the next room.

The living room has a pair of wooden chairs at the table and a fire roaring in the hearth. The window’s shutters are open, and you can see the edge of a lake surrounded by large green trees unlike any you’ve seen in Skyrim. You don’t feel like you were asleep that long, but it looks like late afternoon. The landscape is nothing like the forgotten vale, closer to some places around Whiterun.

But that doesn’t bother you. You just sit down and slather some butter on a piece of bread. This is all just so comfortable, so familiar. You know it’s yours, even if you’ve never been here before.

“So what kind of magic stuff is it this time?” you ask yourself. Because you’ve been through enough shit now to assume it’s magic. It’s a little too weird to be a dream.

“Soul magic,” John says.

You fumble and the butter knife falls to the plate with a clatter. John stands at the window, leaning into your house. He’s wearing a short-sleeved tunic and appears to have some sort of dark blue scarf or cape draped over his shoulders. You think maybe it’s made of that cotton stuff?

“So yeah,” he continues with a casual tone, “Welcome to the ‘metaphysical manifestation of your spirit,’ as dad says. You look weirdly good, by the way. It kind of suits you.”

“What do you mean weirdly good?” you huff.

He smiles. “I’ll show you later. But first, a cottage Karkat? You have a cute little countryside cottage?”

You blush. “What’s wrong with my house?!”

“Nothing! It’s cute! It’s just… I thought everyone got something like the house they grew up in.”

 “Hmm.” You take a bite out of your bread. The inside is soft and still warm but the crust has a nice crunch on it. “I mean, maybe it’s because we moved a few times when I was a kid. And I always wanted a house kind of like this. When I’d think about getting out of the city and settling down I’d usually picture some little thing near a lake.”

“Like I said, there’s nothing wrong with it. I actually kinda like it.” He sets his chin down on the window sill and looks up at you through his eyelashes. “You’ve got all kinds of adorable stuff set up in the yard too. I guess it’s probably ‘cause the weather’s nice here.”

“As opposed to?”

“Why don’t you meet me outside?” he asks.

Before you can answer he steps away from the window and just like that he’s gone. Even if you turn your head you can’t see him.

You sigh and set your bread down. Well, might as well jump into this soul magic stuff with two feet. You open the door and find yourself looking into a massive stone foyer. You have to blink for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. Between thick, intricate tapestries candles light the space and soon you start to pick them out. John stands in front of you, fidgeting with his hands nervously. His clothes are very odd, cut and sewn weird and his shirt is far too short. But still… it suits him. Maybe that’s what he meant about you and your shapeless clothes earlier.

“Is this Battlehorn?” You ask.

“Not quite. I mean, I think it’s based off of the real castle, but this is the manifestation I learned to make as a kid.”

“I like it,” you say.

You take a step closer to the tapestry. You see a young John playing with fire. He burns himself and starts crying, only to be picked up by a man with his same nose and eyes. “Is this a memory?”

“Yeah. Most of the important ones show up somewhere around here.”

“Any with me?” You ask.

“Of course there are!” He grins and holds out his hand. “You want me to show you?”

You shrug. “Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do until morning.”

You interlace your fingers with his and walk down the hall, glancing at his memories as you go. You probably pass half a dozen closed doors but don’t ask what they are. Given some of the visions he gets, you think some parts are better closed off.

Then you come across a window and see what he meant by the weather being nice at your house. A storm rages outside with howling wind and pouring rain. Lightning crashes and just for a moment you see the silhouette of a dragon.

“What the fuck is that?!” you demand.

“Oh, uh… that’s one of the holes I mentioned yesterday.”

As you look around the edge of the stonework you see that it’s not the neat window you’d taken it for. Instead it’s rough, like a bit of the wall has been blasted away.

“Shit, it’s the dragons, isn’t it?” Sickles appear in your hands.

“No! They’re fine. They just kinda… hang out.”

“Hang out,” you repeat, unbelievingly. As you watch, the dragon lifts one leg and scratches its head like a dog.

“Yeah. Same as Miraak.”

“He’s here too?!”

“Of course! How do you think we talk?”

“I guess… I never really thought about it.” You trace the edges of the opening absentmindedly and John shudders. “Shit!” You draw your hand back. Does that hurt?”

“No, actually…” color starts to rise in his cheeks. “It felt kind of nice.”

You smirk, “Oh really?”

You press your hand flat against the masonry, rubbing it just a little. The stone is smooth and cool, but you feel it shift under your hand. John closes his eyes and lets out a little happy sigh. You were expecting it to be sexual, but it’s not. Instead you see something more like… relief? Yeah, that’s the same little smile he gets when you give him the stuff to help with bruising or sore muscles.

In a matter of seconds, the hole in the wall is gone. John looks at you with love and adoration and it makes you feel weak in the knees. No, wait, you’re just feeling weak all of a sudden.

“Are you okay?” John asks. “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah,” you reassure him. “But do you have a chair or something?”

There wasn’t one a moment before, but you feel wood grain beneath your fingers and sink down onto the seat behind you.

“What just happened?” You ask.

“I think…” He starts to sit down in front of you, and by the time he does there’s a chair there. “I think you just healed me a little.”

“I can’t do magic,” you say simply.

“Soul magic is weird,” he replies, taking your hand. “Maybe because we’re seeing my soul right now you’re doing some weird kind of reach around through me. Or maybe it’s like alchemy, where you’ve just got a weird knack for it if you don’t think too hard.”

“Could be,” you say. “Do you think I’d have to try a few more times to figure it out?”

His eyes gleam. “I think I’d like that.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Karkat's birthday, end game loot ahead! And, you know, an ending (again)

It takes less time than you would have expected to repair the damage you’d done to yourself. You’re pretty sure you heal more in a handful of nights with Karkat than you had on your own in the two months since Sovngarde. The first two times you have to go to him. It’s not the easiest thing, after all, to get yourself into soul space and then find where your bond has manifested itself so you can find each other. But Karkat catches up quickly. The third night he’s awake and waiting for you and on the forth he finds his own way in and by the time you regain consciousness he’s curled up next to you in bed. After that the two of you slowly work your way through the castle. Karkat’s pretty good about not snooping too much, so you take the lead and head vaguely in the direction of the area that needs the most repairs. Sometimes the friendlier manifestations come up to say hi, and once you go to annoy Miraak. Eventually you make it to the spot that needs the most help that day. He puts his hand on the stone and he gives himself to you in the most intimate way possible, literally taking pieces of his soul and working them in to yours. After that, well, it’s only fair to return the favor and give yourself over to him. Preferably in his soul space where there’s no one to bother you and you can bask in the warm sun as you let him take whatever he wants.

(Not that you mind. Soul sex is _amazing._ Like it’s good in the real world, but souls are a little less solid, so sometimes there’s a shift and you can feel what he’s feeling at the same time and there’s nothing quite like it.)

Each morning when you wake up you feel closer to Karkat than ever before. It’s hard not to when you’ve been rummaging around in each other’s souls. The downside is that you’re never quite as rested as you should be, and you both find yourself taking long naps in the afternoons. During the rest of the day Karkat works with his mother, learning her secrets and techniques. You find yourself wandering around the Cliff-People’s settlement, making friends with Rok-Korr’s clan.

But you know you can’t stay forever. After about a week, you decide you’re back in good condition, and Karkat’s starting to show a little bit of wear. Even if he doesn’t use magic so it shouldn’t get worse, you don’t want to see him hurting. So instead, the two of you gather your gear and make your way up to the temple. It’s impressive, on par with the biggest and most beautiful of the Aylied ruins. Karkat takes you up the stairs, behind the statue, and holds out his pitcher. But then he pauses and pulls it back.

“You sure you’re ready?” Karkat asks.

You put on a smile. “As I’m gonna be, unless you wanna wait for months until everything’s healed up properly.”

“Right,” he replies, utterly unconvinced.

“I’ll just try really hard not to magic, okay?”

“Says the guy with the magic hammer and magic armor.”

You roll your eyes at him and summon your stuff. “Look, it didn’t even hurt.” (Okay, it did hurt a little, but your face is covered so it’s not like he can tell). “I just won’t drop any of it until I’m sure we’re safe.”

“Okay, sure, have fun with no peripheral vision in a dungeon. But fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just dump out your stupid jug before the rest of it evaporates.”

He grumbles something you can’t quite make out, but then up-ends the pitcher. As it hits the basin the water begins to glow an unearthly green. Well that’s a new one.

“Karkat?” You say.

“Yeah, it’s real.”

You tip your visor up to get a better look, but as you do you realize the water is draining away. It fills a pair of symmetrical grooves on the floor ahead of you. And as your gaze follows the path you realize…

“Oh my gods, Karkat…”

“I know.”

“Karkat!”

“I _know!”_

“Come on, you don’t think it’s funny it’s shaped like a dick? Like at all?”

“I swear, I’m betrothed to a fucking twelve-year-old.”

The doors swing open and he stomps forward, but you don’t miss the little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. That totally counts as a win for you. You follow, still grinning. The smile falls from your face as you get a good look at the inside of the temple.

The steps of your boots on the alabaster stone bounce up to the vaulted ceiling and echo sharply. There are several windows held shut with decorative bars. You can’t see any particular light source, and yet the room seems to shine. Dozens of falmer and chaurus stand before you, all frozen solid.

“We’ve been here before,” you say.

“Or somewhere a lot like it,” he replies.

“I guess,” you concede.

You’ve got better things to do than bicker, like examine the frozen figures before you. The nearest ones face away from the entrance, but as you look further ahead you see ones on the far side looking towards you. No, towards the center of the room. There’s a large sun idol sitting on a pedestal in the middle of the chamber. The falmer gather more densely around it, armed with what were once elven weapons, now heavily tarnished with age. The very closest reach out towards the statue.  

“Did you think this froze them?” you ask.

“It’s possible…” Karkat says.

He starts walking forward, but as he gets up to the group clustered around the idol they shatter. Shards of ice blow away and the falmer themselves begin to move. First they snarl and those of them with weapons brandish them. You grip your hammer tightly and Karkat unsheathes his sickles. Then the falmer tip their heads up or to the side and their brows furrow. They lower their weapons and whine and grunt in confusion. The warrior closest to the idol tips his mask upwards and looks hard at Karkat for a moment. He says something that sounds like words and then starts walking towards the exit. The others follow him. One of the females stops and hands Karkat a necklace made of glowing rocks before continuing onward.  

“Well that was weird.” You say. “Did you understand any of that?”

“I think they were just confused.”

“I guess that makes sense. I would be too.”

You move towards a female and a chaurus standing in the corner. Nothing happens. As you inspect them more closely, you notice the falmer looks terrified. She clings tightly to something heavily covered in ice. The chaurus appears to have some sort of crude saddle on it with a bunch of things you can’t identify piled on top.

“What the heck is going on here?” you murmur.

“Hmm?” Karkat replies.

He comes closer to take a look and, again, when he’s about five feet away the ice breaks. The bundle in the falmer’s arms starts to cry. She ducks past you and sprints towards the exit, the chaurus, which you now see is wearing a lead tied to her waist, runs as fast as it can to keep up. As you glance around the room you begin to notice a pattern. The ones at the edges have no weapons and there are some far too small to be adults. Instead most of them seem to have large packs on their backs. All the chaurus are covered in piles of stuff. 

“This doesn’t seem like an invasion force.” You say.

“You’re right. I think… I think they might have been refugees.”

Karkat walks toward another small group. This time when the ice breaks off the adults push the children behind them. One of the females calls up ice magic. One of them notices the necklace still gripped in Karkat’s hand and grunts something. They look almost relieved. The adults still stand between you and the little ones, but they all quickly leave.

“Yeah, So do you think Gelebor lied or was just wrong?” You ask.

“I don’t know. And I don’t know why these are breaking for me either if that was gonna be your next question. But we’ve got to let them out of here.”

You nod in agreement and Karkat goes over to the next group. You move towards another pair of frozen falmer, a male and a female clinging to each other. Even when you reach out and touch them they stay frozen. And now that you’re touching them, you’re certain it’s actual ice. What kind of spell can do that?! You know you said you’d try not to do magic, but you’re too curious. You try doing a little more ice magic, since sometimes you can disrupt the pattern and break ice that way. But nothing happens. Then you try just a tiny bit of fire magic, not even enough to make a proper flame, and the result is immediate.  The ice cracks the same way it did when Karkat got close. You back off, giving the two space to flee.

“What did you do?” Karkat demands from the far side of the chamber.

“Look, we both wanted to know why this was happening…”

“John, _what did you do_?”

“So, uh, it’s fire magic, but I just used a _little.”_

“Fucking Azura. I’m not even using magic!”

“Yeah, you say the same thing when you’re doing alchemy. Just because you don’t notice when you’re doing it doesn’t mean you’re not doing it!”

He rolls his eyes at you. You briefly contemplate helping another group yourself just to annoy him. But you don’t know if you’re going to have to fight later, and if you will you should save your magic. You briefly wonder if this was how Karkat felt when you got a little overprotective after his near-vampirism experience. That would explain a lot. Oops.

You look back at Karkat and realize he’s made his way about half way around the room. He stands in front of a large pillar with a stylized sun on the wall behind it.

“Hey, John?” He says.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember where I put that pitcher?”

“The one you used to open the door?”

“No, the one we bought in dawnstar with the spriggans on it. I think it’ll liven up the room. _Yes_ that pitcher. I think there’s probably a secret passageway here that I can unlock with it.”

“Uh… no. Why don’t you finish unfreezing everyone while I go look for it?”

“Fine by me.”

It turns out he set it down outside right by the little basin. Thankfully the massive doors didn’t swing shut behind you, so you can run out and grab it quickly. A few more falmer pass you on the way out.

When you return, the hall is empty except for Karkat, who stands at the pillar with his arms crossed.

“Got it!” you call out.

“Good,” he says. “I want to see if there’s more falmer trapped in there.”

“I know.” You put the pitcher down and a segment of wall starts to slide open. “So, were you still looking for books or-“

“Well, yeah, but this is more important.”

You smile. “Glad you think so too.”

Once the opening is tall enough for you to easily get through, you and Karkat head forward into a hallway. There are huge cracks, forcing some flagstones up and others down. You’re quickly forced to turn again, and are immediately confronted with a gate. Karkat begins picking the lock, but you look through the bars. The chamber ahead is as wide as the first, but in much worse shape. The light is much lower here. Columns are broken and it looks like massive chunks of the ceiling have fallen down. But your eye catches movement in the back of the room, something massive and white against the strange blue ice wall on the far side. A frost giant stalks back and forth, completely unaware of you.

“Karkat,” you whisper.

“What?” He hisses back.

You point at the beast ahead.

“Oh.” He says.

“Yeah. Let’s not. At least not until we get all the civilians out.”

“Agreed.”

You turn and walk back to the main room.

“Hey, John?” Karkat says.

“Yeah?”

“Was there a big hole in the back wall somewhere?”

“No. Why?”

He takes a deep breath, “Because that means somebody’s been feeding that thing.”

“Oh. Stealth mode, then?”

“As much as we can with you clanging around.”

You’d give him shit if he wasn’t right. But you’ve worn heavy armor for years. You know how to move in it. You head back to the main chamber and this time head through one of the more obvious gates opposite the entrance. There are a few more falmer that need freeing, but more of them are armed, again with tarnished elven weapons. But these are all at the edges of the room, many of them up on podiums. Almost like they were frozen and then arranged. As you get closer you realize why – these are trophies. The highest ranking falmer, either with armor nearly like Karkat’s or finer weapons or jewelry like the Wise Ones of the Cliff People wear. Much like the first group of warriors that were freed, these assess the situation hard before apparently realizing you mean no harm and moving back towards the exit.

As you go deeper, that thick unnaturally blue ice appears again. It first grows along the columns, then in the next chamber it forms stalactites bigger around than you. Even if the color wasn’t a big enough giveaway that something was off, it radiates magic. The quality is different, you have no idea what made it, but you know it was powerful. Really powerful. And the signature only gets stronger as you move ahead. Whatever made this lives in the cave. And it’s waiting there for you.

You tell Karkat and he replies. “So that’s why this place makes me feel so weird.”

“Any idea what it is? Did your mom give you any hints?”

He shakes his head. “She could never get in. Gelebor wouldn’t give her the quest because she was a woman. But… Remember how Gelebor said he wanted us to fight the Arch-Curate?”

“You think one guy did this?” you ask.

“I don’t know.  But if he’s the head of a magical order that worshiped Akatosh, he’s definitely a powerful wizard,” Karkat points out.  

“Good point. You ready for a fight?”

He smiles. “John, you know me. When am I ever not?”

You squeeze his hand briefly and then walk forward through a small opening in the ice.

Karkat starts to shout something, but it doesn’t process until your foot fails to meet the ground that he was telling you to wait.

* * *

 

You had thought that conversation was the “Hey, this might be our last chance to back out. Are you sure you’re ready?” conversation before you carefully climbed down the nine foot cliff. So when John took a step forward you barely had time to panic before he tumbled down and out of sight.

A split second later, there’s a loud thud followed by a mess of different curse words. It’s not a scream of agony or, even worse, silence. You peer over the edge and John is sitting on his ass, clutching his wrist and swearing.

“Stupid fucking armor! I knew I should have fucking gotten rid of it! But no, didn’t want my stupid asshole boyfriend to worry. Fucking shit!

You, in your usual compassion, start laughing at him.

“Shut up, asshole! Why didn’t you fucking say anything? Now I’m pretty sure my stupid arm’s broken!”

“Sorry, ha ha, it’s relief I swear!”

“Ugh, just get down here already!”

“Hey, now you know how I feel when I’m swearing my ass off and you just giggle.” You grab the edge and ease yourself down. Once you’re just hanging onto the top you let go and easily drop the couple of feet onto the ground.

“Great time to be rubbing off on each other,” he grumbles.

By the time you turn around he’s banished his gauntlets and his good hand glows with healing magic.

“You can fix that, right?”

“Yeah. Honestly we’re lucky it was a clean break in the actual arm bones.” He lets go and starts opening and closing his other hand. “If it was worse or in my wrist we would have been in real trouble.” He closes his eyes and leans back against the wall, breathing heavily.

You pull a potion of magicka from your belt and hand it to him. “Would this help?”

“It should a little bit.” He downs it quickly and then hands you the empty bottle back. “Wait, shit.”

“What?”

“We were supposed to be in stealth mode.”

“Fuck.”

Both of you scramble to your feet. Thankfully, nothing seems to be coming. When you look over, John’s got his gauntlets back, but he’s holding back on the hammer for the moment.

“We should keep moving,” he says.

“If you’re ready.”

He smiles. “I’m better than I have been in weeks, thanks to you. It’ll take more than that to keep me down.”

“I- Thank you.” You know he can’t feel it through the helmet, but you lean over and kiss his temple anyway. “Let’s go.”

The passage ahead of you is narrow and slanted. It opens into a large chamber with massive ice spikes poking out from the sides. Between the spikes you see dozens of falmer facing each other and heavily armed and armored with a few chaurus mixed in. On the far end of the room you see a dais and throne made of the same thick blue ice. A figure sits on the throne, and as you come into the chamber he stirs and addresses you in the same dialect as Gelebor used. 

_“Ah, it has been quite some time since anyone attempted to plunder my temple. I was beginning to believe even the most foolish of bandits had forgotten this place.”_

_“We are not here to steal,”_ You say, approaching slowly and showing him the pitcher. _“We come to learn.”_

_“Hmph, I see. So Gelebor wanted to send through two last initiates.”_

_“He did. Are you… Arch-Curate?”_ He certainly looks the part. He wears armor that is almost like Gelebor’s but even more ostentatious, inlaid with rubies and silver details. Instead of a helmet he wears some kind of crown with wings like a dragon’s.

 _“Indeed, I- Wait a moment. What_ are _you?”_

_“A Dunmer and an Imperial. Young races of elf and human.”_

His lip quirks. _“No. No you are not. I sense it now. You are more elf than man, but truly neither. And you,”_ he turns his gaze toward John, _“A creature more disgusting than a true daedra cloaked in human flesh. Gelebor must be growing desperate to send such_ things _after me. The only name I can give either of you is abomination. Allow me to show you what happens when abominations step into Auri-El’s cleansing light.”_

He sits up straight and lifts his hands. A wave of light comes forth, racing from behind his throne and filling the chamber. It’s chilly enough to send a shiver down your spine, but it does little else. Then you hear growling around you and realize that all of the falmer and chaurus have come back to life. John summons his hammer and gets behind you.

_“Normally I un-freeze two or so at a time and have them fight for my amusement. But I know the two of you are a smarter and stronger type of abomination than these degenerate falmer. So, let us see what you can do.”_

You growl and grab your sickles. _“Better question: let us see what happens when we kill you!”_ You rush forward, but he snaps his fingers and a clear wall of ice appears in front of the dais, blocking your advance.

“Karkat!” John cries. “I can’t do this by myself!”

You turn and see that he’s surrounded by falmer and chaurus. But that gives you an idea. You pull out your amulet and grasp it tightly in your hand. By the time you get back to John the earth is rumbling. As soon as you get your sickles into the first Falmer, you’re being lifted up off of the ground by your chaurus.

Enemies still swarm you, trying to climb up onto your chaurus’s back, but it takes enough time for you and John to get some hits in and knock them free. But you don’t miss the damage that’s being done to your chaurus’ legs. Greenish blood oozes out of cuts. He can’t keep doing this forever.

“Forward!” You yell to him, throwing your weight against his neck in the hopes that he gets the message.

He does, and begins to scuttle forward. John flails a bit, nearly losing his balance.

“What are you doing?” He demands.

“Going for him! Hold on!”

John manages to grab a plate of chitin just in time as your chaurus rams into the ice wall at full speed. You hear a loud crack, but the wall doesn’t break. Your chaurus staggers backwards. He whines softly in pain, but other than that it’s quiet. The falmer behind you have stopped fighting. Your chaurus sinks to the ground. He lowers his head and lets out a pained rattle. One of his mandibles is broken.  

The Arch-Curate gives you an insufferable smirk. But then you notice that up above, near where your chaurus’ head made contact, there’s a small crack in the ice. You hope that’s the opportunity it looks like.  

You shove a healing potion into John’s hands with a brief. “Heal him,” and slide off of the chaurus’ back.

The Arch-Curate crosses one leg over the other and looks at you with amusement. You close your eyes. He’s not worth the attention. Instead you think about what John said earlier: just because you never noticed you were doing magic doesn’t mean you weren’t doing it. You think about how it felt to heal John, how it feels to make potions, how it feels to use Ancestor’s Wrath. Then you imagine a massive ball of fire and shoot it right at the crack ten feet up.

You don’t even get the chance to feel the heat before you see it flying towards the well. John lets out a triumphant cheer. Cracks spread across the wall like a massive spider’s web. And then it shatters. The look on the Arch-Curate’s face is fucking priceless.

But you don’t have time to revel in it. Your head throbs and a wave of nausea passes over you. Falmer start rushing past you, weapons drawn, towards the Arch-Curate. He crosses his arms in front of his face and  murmurs something under his breath. A ball of light forms around him. Before the falmer can reach him he uncrosses his arms, and the light expands outwards. There’s force to it this time, and it’s far colder than before. You’re knocked backwards to the ground. All you can see is the blinding light and all you can hear are the screams of chaurus as they panic in the brightness. Then there’s another loud sound, a massive crashing. You feel pressure on your shoulder, and something’s being poured into your mouth. It tastes like essential oil, and the harshness of it almost makes you gag.

When your vision returns and your ears stop ringing, John is kneeling beside you. His helmet is gone and he’s looking down at you with concern, saying your name over and over again. The ceiling is completely gone and you stare up at the bright midday sky. A pair of dragons circle high above but they seem to have no interest in you.

“What… what happened?” You ask.

“Oh, thank Stendarr,” John breathes. He pulls you up so he can embrace you. “Fuck, for a minute there I thought you were dead.”

“What?”

“You used _fireball._ That’s an adept level spell. Doing that with no practice is the kind of shit that gets apprentices killed!”

“Oh. Oops.”

“Yeah, oops. But you’re okay.” He squeezes you tightly. “Also you’re out of magicka potions now.”

“I think I can live with that.” You look around. “Where are the falmer? Where’s my chaurus?!”

“Back underground. All the chaurus went back down through his hole and the falmer followed them.”

“Gods, I need to know if he’s okay.”

“You can do that later,” John says. “For now he needs rest. And we need to catch the bastard that did this.”

“Where is he?”

“Up ahead. You know that big balcony we saw from the lake?”

“I knew it looked like a doom arena,” you say.

John stands and offers you his hand. “Come on. He’ll have to be tired after making a big enough explosion to blow the roof off of the temple. We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod and let him help you to your feet. Once you’re up you start walking at first, but then realize you can still run. It really is just like the soul magic: even if you feel drained your body can still keep moving. Guh, it’s so weird. You still don’t like magic.

You find the Arch-Curate at the very edge of the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing.

 _“So it has come to this,”_ he says softly. _“The age of holy light is truly gone. This place was beautiful once, you know. It was once lush and green, not the frozen desert you see down there. Auri-El would let his light and magic down into the valley, and I would tell others of his will. Until the betrayed came. Those damned abominations.”_

The smart thing to do would be to pull out your bow and shoot him as quickly and as often as you can. But you’re curious, and he’s trapped. _“Tell us what really happened,”_ you say.

_“They came here, invaded our sacred space. As though those twisted things could understand enlightenment. Even the men were hopeless, and they decided to bring their women and children as well. Heresy upon heresy. Yet the other guardians let them in. They turned away from our holy mission. I did what I had to in attempt to preserve the inner sanctum. But even after I sacrificed my brothers to seal the wayshrines, those abominations kept coming, climbing over the mountains and through the caves. Even when I froze as much of the Forgotton Vale as I could, they persevered in spite of their nakedness. They never attacked us again, but there were no new initiates. Eventually all those that lived in the sanctum with me were welcomed into Auri-El’s glowing palace.”_

_“But not you.”_

He smiles sadly. _“The Arch-Curate does not seek his rest until there is another to pass his mantel to. And now there is no one else. The only other falmer in this world has betrayed me. But I will fight to preserve what is left!”_

He crosses his arms and throws them out, creating another expanding ball of light. This one is nowhere as powerful as the first, but it still makes you both take a step back. John tries to shout him off the balcony, but he doesn’t get enough height and instead slams into the railing. That gives you enough time to get close, but the Arch-Curate draws a sword quickly enough to intercept your sickles. He shoves you back just a bit, but then John’s on his other side, hammer raised. Before he gets the chance to bring it down, the Arch-Curate grabs his wrist, ice quickly begins to form, encasing John before he can do anything.

“No you fucking don’t!” You shout, charging him again.

He’s way better in hand to hand combat than a guy who’s been alone for a few centuries should be. You’re quicker than he is, but it only lets you get in a few glancing blows. You don’t have time to really aim or wind up for something that would be really debilitating. And he’s got a one handed sword so he’s healing off wounds as fast as you can inflict them. You’re not used to opponents that can parry this well, and a sword is admittedly a way better weapon than a sickle. Fuck, you should have sucked it up and let Dave or Terezi or even Vriska teach you after Sovngarde. Still, you can sense him beginning to tire. He’s still getting his parries and a few attacks in, but it’s more sluggish. You’re wearing him out. If you just keep going you can-

 _“Enough!”_ He shouts.

The change in color draws your eye as his off-hand goes from the gentle gold of healing to the brighter white of his other attacks. He thrusts his arm forward and shoves hard enough to topple you and make you slide backwards.  He breathes heavily, but brings his hands together and begins to form an ice spike between them. You get up on your knees, ready to roll out of the way wherever he decides to shoot.

 _“The light of Auri-El shall never go out,”_ The Arch-Curate says, reading himself to loose the spell.

But before he can actually let it go, a silver arrow embeds itself in his chest. He looks down in surprise, just in time for two more to hit their marks. He grasps at his chest and then sinks to the ground dead.

“I guess it makes sense not to want to bring your mom on an adventure, but I’m not as useless as I look, you know.”

You scramble to your feet and see Katya standing behind you, a silver elven bow in her hand.

“Have you been following us this whole time?” You ask, keeping your eyes on her as you walk towards John.

“No, I thought you were heading home. It was just kind of hard to miss the part where the top of the mountain exploded.”

“Oh. Fair.”

The ice breaks off of John and he shivers slightly. “Thanks,” he says. “So uh…” he looks over towards the Arch-Curate’s fallen body. “Should I call our ride?”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

He shouts to the sky and one of the circling dragons comes in for a landing, its massive body taking up a third of the balcony. Before you can say anything else, there’s a scraping of stone on stone as you see a wayshrine rise up from the center of the balcony.

Gelebor steps out and looks up to face you.

 _“So, it has been done,”_ He says. _“My brother is dead.”_

 _“How do you know that?”_ Your mother demands about at the same time you ask _“How are you out here?”_

 _“I sensed it the moment he passed from this world.”_ Gelebor says. _“When he did the power of Arch-Curate was passed on to me.”_ He glances around. _“Though I don’t have much to be Arch-Curate of anymore, it seems. But, the Betrayed no longer have power over Vyrthur. That is what matters.”_

 _“They never did,”_ You say.

_“What? What are you talking about?!”_

_“It is as I told you,”_ Katya says. _“He let his own pride and unwillingness to change blind him to the damage he was doing.”_

 _“I see…”_ He smiles softly. _“In some ways, that does bring me comfort. I was the one who first offered the Betrayed seek asylum in the Forgotten Vale. It is good to know that did not cause the complete downfall of my order. And perhaps… perhaps that means some day they can shed their hatred and learn to worship Auri-El once more.”_

 _“They never stopped.”_ Your mother walks over and hands something to him. It looks like a bone carved into a stylized sun. _“They simply changed how they worshiped and did what it took to survive, just as my foremothers did.”_

He inspects the statuette for a moment before looking up at you and asking. _“Is this true?”_

 _“I think so,”_ You reply, _“She knows more than me.”_

Gelebor ponders it for a moment, before finally saying. _“Centuries ago, when this order was founded, we dreamed of becoming one with Auri-El by separating ourselves from the mundane traditions and physical temptations of women. Perhaps the time for that is over.”_

 _“I would agree with that.”_ Katya smiles. “ _Come down to the cliffs sometime, Arch-Curate. You can talk to the Wise-Ones and see how Falmer live these days.”_

_“I shall. But first, I must examine the damage that has been done to the temple. I fear it is worse than I had expected.”_

Katya turns toward you. “Well, it looks like things around here are starting to change quickly.” She looks up at the dragon. “Are you still leaving?”

You reach over and take John’s hand. “Yeah. I feel like there’s somewhere else we’re supposed to be.”

John beams brightly at you and a smile tweaks at the edge of your mother’s lips.

“I understand. Do… do you mind if I-?”

You roll your eyes but open your arms and she comes over to hug you. As you do, she whispers in your ear. “Kankri did an amazing job. You turned out better than I ever could have expected.”

“Thanks,” you say. “You know, he might want to hear that himself.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave here. But would you do me one last favor?”

“What is it?”

She takes a small rucksack from her back and pulls out an envelope. From the size of it it’s got multiple pieces of paper. “While you were here I started writing this. Please, give it to your father.”

“Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“And don’t open it.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I probably wouldn’t want to.”

She laughs. “Well, you’re probably right about that.” She puts it back in her bag. You’re about to ask her why when she hands you the whole thing. “And this is for you. It’s got a few books in it. Lore and alchemy stuff, mostly. Think of it as a coming of age present.”

“Th-Thank you!” You say opening it up. And sure enough, it contains a number of those hand-made books, like the one she showed you earlier.

“And, while we’re at it, that bow you’ve got is basic glass, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, you get a wedding present too. Here.” She holds out her own bow. “This is the Bow of Auriel, one of the most sacred artifacts from this temple. It does sun damage, extra effective against the undead. I know you said you’re not adventuring anymore, but if the emperor calls on House Egbert you might want this. If not, it’ll make a nice trophy.”

You reach out to take it. John looks at it curiously, probably trying to figure out how exactly it’s enchanted. “I- Can you do this?”

She smirks. “Probably not. I mean, I stole it after I tried to talk to the last Arch-Curate and he was a dick about it. But I think it’s better for it to be out in the world. Use it to let people know about us, to tell them that the Snow Elves aren’t dead.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.” She pulls you in for another hug. “Now go on. But if you ever decide you need a break from nobility you know where to find me. I might never have been a good mother, but I’ve had a lot of practice helping people deal with shitty in-laws.”

That makes you laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. Bye, mom.”

“Goodbye, _ju’ki.”_  

You turn around and see that John’s already on the dragon, mounted behind its head, leaving just enough space for you. He holds a hand out and you take it but pause for a moment, glancing back. Your mother smiles and waves you on. That extra bit of encouragement is all you need. You pull yourself up and take your place right in front of John. His chest is warm and solid against your back, his arms caging you in so you don’t fall off. Together, the two of you fly off over the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I'm done for real this time
> 
> there's not really any more skyrim to explore
> 
> thank you all for sticking with me all this time.

**Author's Note:**

> (reminder that comments are love, comments are life. They clear my skin and mediate my depression)


End file.
